


Born To Be Yours

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clexa Week 2019, Ex Sex, F/F, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Online Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2019-11-08 17:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17985518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: It's Lexa's birthday, and even though they live on opposite sides of the country and have never met face-to-face, Clarke is determined to make it the best birthday ever, sending Lexa gifts and flowers and a string of birthday kiss emojis that turns things in direction neither of them expect to go.When Lexa ends the conversation abruptly, leaving Clarke flustered and unable to control her thoughts, she eagerly accepts an invitation from her ex to go out for drinks.  One thing leads to another, and well...A month later, Clarke gets a call from her doctor with some unexpected news, leaving her to figure out what the hell happens now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a brief sex scene between Clarke and Finn, which is not faded to black because it serves to both develop character and further the plot. If this is something that will upset you, please click the Back button now and find another story to enjoy.

Lexa's phone buzzed on the table and she looked as the screen lit up with a notification.

**Clarke:** HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABE!!!!!!

It was accompanied by at least half a dozen birthday-related emojis, and Lexa knew she was grinning like an idiot even before everyone else at the table started in on her. It only escalated when she announced that it was time for her to go.

"Hot date?" one asked. 

"Booty call," another countered. "You know Lexa doesn't date." There was a barb in the comment, because the speaker was an ex-hook-up who had taken it badly when, after their second rendezvous, Lexa had told her it couldn't happen again, and meant it. Never mind the fact that the bitter ex was now in a relationship with a woman who looked at her like she'd hung the stars, and they were so cute together it made everyone gag.

Lexa had told Clarke about her rule once, how she wouldn't have sex with the same person more than twice... or on more than two occasions, to be accurate. Clarke had laughed and asked if she'd read a lot of Regency romances growing up, because that was how people used to be about dances at a ball: if you danced with the same person more than twice, you were practically declaring your intention to propose, and sooner rather than later. "Third time's a charm, and all that."

"Is that where the expression came from?" Lexa had asked. 

"No idea," Clarke had answered. "Maybe." But then they'd gotten distracted by something, and as far as Lexa knew, neither of them had ever looked it up. 

"Screw you," Lexa said, realizing too late that the choice of words was a poor one. She'd had one more drink than usual, and maybe it had been one too many, but it was her birthday, and they were buying, and what was she going to do, say _no_? "It's just a friend."

She silently apologized to Clarke, because Clarke wasn't _just_ anything, but she wasn't about to tell _them_ that. Everyone around the table – including the twice-and-never-again lovers – were people she considered friends... but just friends. People she hung out with socially, might call if she needed help moving or volunteers for an event she was coordinating, but would never call in a _real_ crisis. Many of them she knew from various activist groups and projects, and these get-togethers were as much networking as a chance to unwind. Hell, sometimes she left them feeling more wound up than when she started. The bits and pieces of her personal life they knew were mostly superficial, and she did her best to keep it that way. 

Which was why none of them knew about Clarke, who she had met online through almost a year ago when they were both organizing events for a national day of action, and who had quickly become one of the most important people in Lexa's life. Not romantically – it wasn't like that – but any day where they didn't communicate in some way was a dark day in Lexa's books. Luckily, there hadn't been one of those days in a long time. Even so, if Lexa mentioned her at all to the people she knew in 'real life', it was always as 'a friend' with no further explanation. Because even now, when finding dates online seemed to be more the rule than the exception, people seemed to find the idea that one could have friends they'd never met face-to-face strange, and therefore suspect. The last thing she wanted to hear from her so-called friends was that Clarke was probably a middle-aged man living in his mother's basement and typing to her with one hand while the other was down his shorts. She wasn't. Clarke had sent her pictures, and in addition to phone calls they'd FaceTimed more than once. 

The first time had been a last-minute plea for Lexa's help picking out which dress to wear to a frenemy's wedding; the second had been later that night when Clarke was a little tipsy and decided to make Lexa her "pocket plus one." She'd even taken Lexa for a spin on the dance floor, and Lexa had laughed as the scenery lurched behind her. "Are you seriously doing this?" she'd asked.

"Well if you were _here_ I wouldn't have to," Clarke had said, in what Lexa thought was supposed to be a teasing tone, but it had come out almost like an accusation, even though she hadn't invited Lexa. Not that Lexa would have been able to go even if she had. Not with the entire country between them. 

"Are people staring?" 

"They're just jealous," Clarke had told her, "because I'm dancing with the most beautiful girl in the room." And then she'd pulled Lexa closer, accidentally giving her a peek down her cleavage before realizing that hugging her phone wasn't going to have the desired effect. 

In hindsight, that might have been the night that Lexa had really, truly fallen in love with her. 

"Wait," one of the women said, catching her elbow. "Are you all right? Do you need a Lyft?"

"I walked," Lexa said. "It's only a few blocks." She smiled, winked. "Why do you think I always suggest this place when it's my turn to pick?"

That got a laugh and hearty clap on the back that rocked Lexa forward a little, and with a wave to everyone else, she let the momentum carry her out the door.

As soon as she was outside, in cooler air and able to hear herself think, Lexa tapped on Clarke's message, then scrolled to the option to call. Most of the time they texted or used various messengers to chat, but right now the thing Lexa wanted most of all for her birthday was to hear Clarke's voice.

"Penalty for excessive exclamation point use," Lexa said, before Clarke could even say hello, and Clarke laughed.

Lexa closed her eyes, letting the sound wash over her, warming her chest and then trickling downward, leaving her more loose-limbed even than the alcohol. 

"What about the emojis?" Clarke teased, because the most frequently used emoji on Lexa's keyboard was the one rolling its eyes, usually in response to Clarke's latest string of pictorial nonsense. 

"You get a pass for the emojis. They were on theme." 

Lexa's phone buzzed, and when she glanced at the screen she saw a thumbs up emoji. "You are the worst," she said, but she was grinning again, so wide her cheeks ached. 

"Well you can't see it if I just do it, so..." 

"If you send me the shrugging emoji, so help you," Lexa said, doing her best to sound threatening. Her phone buzzed, and she groaned. 

"Too late," Clarke said. "What are you going to do about it?" 

Nothing, and they both knew it. It was just a game they played. 

"By the way, I'm blaming you if I go in to work on Monday to a summons to talk to HR about sexual harassment," Lexa said. 

Clarke started to laugh, then stopped. "Wait, what? What did I do?"

"The chocolate-covered fruit you sent me? The bananas were rather... suggestive." 

"Bananas?" Clarke sounded confused. "I thought I just ordered strawberries!" 

"Well, if you did, they messed up, because there were definitely bananas. Here, look." Lexa quickly sent her the picture she'd taken of the offending fruit. When she put her phone back to her ear, Clarke was giggling. 

"Oh wow. That's... wow." 

"Right? So are you going to support me if I get canned for inappropriate workplace conduct? Lewd and lascivious snacks?" Lexa asked. 

The snickering stopped. "They wouldn't really—"

"No," Lexa said. "Of course not. Everyone thought it was funny." Sometimes she forgot that pretty much nothing was funny for Clarke at work. She was an art therapist who worked with people – many of them children – who were dealing with trauma. There were good days, days when patients had breakthroughs, turned a corner, smiled for the first time in forever as they showed off their masterpiece... but there were other days that were just soul-crushing. 

Those were the days when the miles between them were the hardest.

"Good," Clarke said. "But you know if you ever needed—"

"I know," Lexa said. "Same goes for you."

"I know." Clarke's voice was soft and sweet, and it did things to Lexa that she couldn't let herself think too much about, not when her filters were already eroded by alcohol, because she might say something she couldn't take back, something they would both regret. 

"Hold on," Lexa said. "I need to find my keys." She wedged her phone between her ear and her shoulder and rummaged through her bag until she found them – all they way at the bottom, naturally –and unlocked the front door. She clutched the railing as she climbed the stairs, wondering what in hell had possessed her to wear heels, and stopped when she saw a giant flower arrangement in front of her door. "What did you do?!" she asked. "Clarke, this is—"

"Oh good," Clarke said, "they got there. Are they amazing?"

_Not half as amazing as you,_ Lexa thought. She said nothing, because there was no way she could manage to force words past the lump in her throat. Instead, she went into their text conversation and sent her a thumbs up. 

She heard Clarke's laugh, and before she could get her phone back to her ear, a response came back: a solid block of kissy-heart emojis. 

Lexa just stared at it, trying to figure out why there were so many, and trying even harder not to read anything into it. She cleared her throat and finally managed to say, "That's a lot of kisses."

"Twenty-nine," Clarke said. "One for every year you've been alive, and one to grow on." 

Lexa hefted the vase and unlocked her door, pushing inside and setting the flowers on the counter. "I thought that was candles."

"Candles too," Clarke said. "But when I was growing up, my parents – my dad, mostly – insisted on giving me birthday kisses. When I was little, I loved it. When I got older, I hated it. I thought it was the worst, most embarrassing thing a parent could ever do to a kid, even though there was no one around to see. I remember the year I turned thirteen, I spent most of the day hiding from my dad, hoping he would forget. Now I wish I could kick thirteen-year-old me's butt. If I'd known then..."

"Oh lo—Clarke," Lexa said, hoping Clarke hadn't heard the slip. 

"Sorry," Clarke said, heaving a sigh. Lexa could almost imagine her rolling her shoulders back, jiggling her arms like she was trying to physically shake off the flash of melancholy. "I'm not trying to drag you down."

"You're not," Lexa said. "But I need to set you down for a second. I need to change out of these clothes." _And give us both a minute to collect ourselves._

"Damn," Clarke said. "I knew I should have FaceTimed you." Lexa could hear the smile in her voice, and she forced a laugh, pretending that the words didn't sting. She knew they were meant as a joke; it wasn't the first time Clarke had said something that. If Lexa didn't know better, it might have been misconstrued as flirting. But it wasn't like that. _Clarke_ wasn't like that. 

Lexa changed into her pajamas, then went to the kitchen to pour herself another drink even though she knew she shouldn't. She told herself that it was mostly ice anyway, and it would help calm her nerves. She went back to her room and flopped onto her bed, picking up the phone again. 

"I wish I was there," Clarke said. "Or you were here." 

"Yeah," Lexa said, taking a too big sip of her drink. "Me too."

"Then I could do it properly instead of having to send my little yellow stand-in." 

Lexa almost choked. "The kisses?"

"No," Clarke said, "the thumbs up." She laughed. "Yes, the kisses." 

"Twenty-nine is a lot of kisses," Lexa said. "You might get bored."

"Never," Clarke said, with a little too much emphasis, and Lexa took another sip even though it was doing the opposite of clearing her head. 

"And I only have two cheeks. They might get full."

"Hmm," Clarke said. "You have a point." Even though she didn't, because it didn't even make sense. Kisses didn't take up space... unless they were stacking up like an elephant in the room, big enough to span the width of a continent. "I guess I would have to branch out." 

"Where?" Lexa asked, before she could stop herself. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ She slugged back half the drink in one gulp. 

Clarke actually seemed to be considering. "Well," she drawled, "you've got two cheeks... and a forehead and a nose... and two ears, so that's six..."

_Stop,_ Lexa said, only the word didn't come out. _Stop. You don't have to do this. I don't **want** you to do this..._ But oh god was that a lie.

"Ten fingers and two hands, so that's eighteen. Two elbows..."

"Elbows?" Lexa choked. "You're going to kiss my elbows?"

"Sure," Clarke said. "Why not? She was smiling, and that was something... that meant she wasn't taking this seriously, and that was a good thing... right? If she thought it was all a joke, they might still be friends in the morning. She drained the rest of her drink. 

"Two shoulders... oh, and I missed your temples before, so that's twenty-four. Five more."

"I should probably go to sleep," Lexa blurted, because she had to stop this before any lines got crossed that they wouldn't be able to return from. "It's late." 

There was a long pause, and then Clarke said, "Make sure you drink lots of water."

"Yes, Mother," Lexa replied, doing her best impression of a petulant teenager. 

"You'll thank me in the morning," Clarke said. 

_Will you still be speaking to me in the morning?_ , Lexa wanted to ask. Because she'd made things weird, and even though Clarke had played along, that didn't mean, with time to think about it, Clarke wouldn't decide that maybe it wasn't time to take a step back from this... whatever it was. Because Lexa had probably just given away the fact that for her, it was maybe just a little more than a friendship, or at least that she wished it could be, and what the hell was Clarke supposed to do with that? 

"Sweet dreams, babe." 

Lexa clamped her mouth shut, afraid that if she tried to say good night, she would say something else instead, and she couldn't do that. She couldn't fuck up the best thing she'd ever had. So she just hung up.

* * *

She just hung up. And Clarke knew. Clarke knew she'd fucked up the best thing she'd ever had, because Lexa had made a joke and instead of just laughing, Clarke had gone and made it weird. But maybe... maybe somehow it would be okay? Maybe in the morning they would just laugh about it? Clarke had said she would kiss Lexa's _elbows_ , for fuck's sake! 

She hadn't said that she would kiss her collarbone... or her neck... her jaw... the hollow behind her ear...

She hadn't said any of those things, which would have gotten her up to twenty-eight, and twenty-nine... twenty-nine would have been...

_Stop._ It wasn't like that. _They_ weren't like that. They were friends. Best friends, even though they'd never met. Clarke had never even thought...

But now she couldn't stop thinking it. She couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like put her arms around Lexa, run her fingers through her hair and kiss her over... and over... and over...

_STOP._ It had been a long day, and not an easy one. Under other circumstances, she and Lexa might have spent some time talking through it, or talking about other things until Clarke had relaxed enough to put the day in perspective, but she hadn't wanted to say anything that would put a damper on Lexa's birthday. Add hormones on top of that, and the fact that Clarke had been stuck in a dry spell for longer than she cared to think about, and it made sense that her imagination might get away from her. But she couldn't let it. Not about Lexa. 

She headed for her room, intent on taking a cold shower to wash away the heat that had built up under her skin, flaring along her nerves and making her jumpy. She started stripping as she made her way down the hall, because why not? One of the perks of living alone was that you could be as dressed or undressed as you wanted to be, whenever and wherever it suited you. So when her phone chimed, signaling she'd received a message, she tripped over the pants tangled around her ankles and nearly faceplanted in her effort to get back to it, because _it might be Lexa_.

She tapped on the notification without looking at it, starting to type an apology, when she realized it wasn't from Lexa at all.

**Finn:** In town for a conference. Drinks?

Clarke knew she should say no. She should just ignore the message, go take her shower, maybe watch an episode or two of something on Netflix and get some sleep. In the years since they'd broken up, Finn had gotten his life together, had acknowledged and apologized for the mistakes he'd made and the damage he'd done when they were both young and dumb and not very good for each other. They weren't exactly friends, but they were more than acquaintances...

... and a drink sounded really good right now. _Really_ good. And not being alone with her own thoughts might not be a bad idea either.

**Clarke:** When and where?

A message popped up with the address.

**Finn:** Now-ish? 

**Clarke:** See you soon.

Clarke gathered up her discarded clothes and dumped them in the hamper, rummaging through her drawers until she found something that looked casual enough to make it clear that they were _just_ having drinks, but also made her feel good about herself, confident in the knowledge that if she wanted more, she could have it. 

She added a little mascara and some color to her lips; her cheeks were flushed rosy already, so she skipped the blush. She brushed out her hair and let it fall in loose waves around her face. Satisfied, she grabbed her keys and purse and headed out the door.

Finn was waiting at the bar, just like he'd said he would be, and he stood up as Clarke approached, wrapping her in a big hug that felt better than Clarke cared to admit. She squeezed him back, maybe a little longer than she should have, but he was warm and solid and _there_ , and there was a lot to be said for that. When she finally let go, he handed her a drink – he still knew her usual – and they headed for a booth to catch up. 

One drink turned into two, and they hadn't run out of things to say yet. When Finn came back with their third round he slid into Clarke's side of the booth and she let him... and when he put his arm around her she let him do that, too. 

She didn't let him kiss her, though. She didn't give him the chance. She kissed him first, as they reached the bottoms of their glasses, and when he suggested they take a nightcap up to his room, she nodded, her lips still brushing his throat. 

She slipped her hand into his pocket as they rode the elevator up, smirking at the shifting colors of his face as he had to pretend that nothing was happening, until they were the last ones left in the little metal box, and then he pushed her up against the wall and let her feel exactly what she'd done to him. If she'd been wearing a dress, and if they had had more floors to travel past, and if the elevator had been just a bit slower...

It took Finn three tries to get the door open, and some of that might have been the alcohol but most of it, Clarke knew, was that he was thinking of slipping a different key into a different slot. As soon as the light flashed, he shoved down the handle and pushed, and they tumbled inside, yanking off clothing and leaving it wherever it landed as they toppled into the king-size bed. 

He might have been a little sloppy as he mouthed her breasts, sucking her already taut nipples into rock-hard peaks, but they were just a layover on his way to his final destination, and Clarke gasped, her back arching off the bed, as he buried his tongue between her legs. She had forgotten – how had she forgotten? – his drunken enthusiasm for going down on her, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing up her spine. 

She closed her eyes, reaching down to slide her fingers into his hair... 

... and realized too late that it wasn't Finn she was thinking of. From this angle, he was just a head of dark hair and deft tongue, and it was easy – too easy – to imagine that he was someone else, and not just anyone else, but the person she'd come here to stop thinking about. 

_Fuck._

Clarke scrambled to find his hand, or any part of him that she could grab onto and use to pull him up, up where she could see his face and feel all of angles and planes of him – no soft curves here – up so that there was no mistaking that he was in no way Lexa. 

She grunted as he entered her with more force than finesse, and told herself that it felt good... or it would if she would just relax, just breathe and remember that the sex had _not_ been one of the reasons they hadn't worked together. And after a few minutes, it _did_ feel good, then better than good. Good enough, even, that when he dangled a condom in front of her, ready for round two, she didn't say no. 

In the morning, Clarke woke up to an empty bed and a note saying he'd had to get an early start, but she was welcome to stay as long as she liked, and if she wanted room service she could just charge it to the room. It was a nice gesture, but it felt a little too much like payment for services rendered, so she dressed quickly in yesterday's clothes and left.

In her car, she realized the smell of Finn's cologne had permeated her clothing and clung to her skin, and by the time she parked in front of her building, it was making her feel sick. She shoved everything straight into the washing machine and turned it on, then headed for the shower to wash the scent – and her irrational guilt – down the drain. 

_You didn't betray Lexa,_ she told herself. _Lexa will never even know._

* * *

Lexa had spent half the morning trying to compose an email to Clarke, apologizing for her behavior the night before. The fact that she hadn't taken Clarke's advice, had in fact done exactly the opposite and poured herself another drink instead, certainly wasn't helping. Her head was pounding and her stomach sloshed queasily, but not quite enough to send her running for the toilet, which might actually have made her feel better...

She didn't deserve to feel better, though. Not until she made things right.

She tried again. 

_Clarke,_

_I'm sorry if I made things awkward between us. I'd had a little too much to drink, and I was lonely, and_

_And all of my friends who have partners, kids, their shit together were looking at me like they felt **so bad** that I was another year closer to becoming an old maid and_

Delete. 

She slammed her laptop shut and shoved it away from her, tears flooding her eyes. She forced herself up and into the shower, where she slumped against the wall and let the water run over her until she stopped gasping, too dehydrated to even cry properly. She turned and opened her mouth, gulping a few mouthfuls even though it was warm, and then reached for her shampoo and did her best to turn herself back into a human being. 

She checked her phone when she got out of the shower out of habit, and her stomach lurched when she saw she had a missed call from Clarke, and a voicemail. For a second she thought she might actually finally throw up, but a few deep breaths settled it again, and she sat down on the edge of her bed and tapped in her code with trembling hands, pressing her phone to her ear.

"Good morning, sunshine. Is it even still morning for you?" A pause, a laugh. "I wanted to say I'm sorry if I took things too far last night. It had been a rough day, and I just... I wasn't thinking. And I know you're probably blaming yourself, because that's what you do, you take the weight of the world on your shoulders – pot and kettle, I know – but can we just... not? Blame ourselves? Or each other? Can we just say, 'Okay, that was a thing that happened,' and move on? Because you mean so much to me, Lexa, and I know I mean a lot to you, too, and I don't want things to be weird between us. So can we just... I don't know, pick up where we left off? And move forward? Because..." Another pause, a long one, and then, "Can you please just call me when you get this? I need to know we're okay." 

Lexa's eyes burned, and her hands were full-on shaking now, as was the rest of her. Of course Clarke had been able to do what she couldn't. Of course she'd found the words, and the courage, to say the things that Lexa wanted to. She dressed quickly and grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge, then collapsed onto the couch and went into her call log to call Clarke back. 

"Hey," Clarke said when she picked up, sounding somehow both relieved and wary, like she wasn't sure what to expect. 

"Good morning, starshine," Lexa said. "The earth says hello." 

Clarke laughed, a soft exhale. It was something they'd been saying to each other since almost the beginning, long enough that Lexa didn't even remember how it had started, but there was comfort in routine, in doing the things they always did and saying the things they always said. She knew Clarke felt it, too. "Thank you for calling me back."

"Thank you for calling me first," Lexa said. 

They were quiet then, just listening to the sound of the other breathing, and Lexa felt knots of tension she hadn't even realized were there beginning to unravel. "We're okay," she said, not a question but not quite a statement, either. 

"We're okay," Clarke agreed. Another silence, a quick caught breath, and then, "I want us to meet."

Lexa blinked. She hadn't known what to expect from this conversation, but the suggestion that, after almost a year of electronic acquaintance, they finally meet face-to-face, hadn't even occurred to her as a possible topic they might discuss. They'd talked about it before, but it usually began and ended with something vague and open-ended like, "We should meet someday," and the other agreeing that yes, they should. 

This... wasn't that. 

"For my birthday," Clarke added. "That should give us enough time to plan."

"Am I going there or are you coming here?" Lexa asked. "Never mind. I'm going there. I'm not making you deal with airport security for your birthday. That would be the worst present ever."

"Worse than chocolate-covered bananas?" Clarke asked, and Lexa could hear the smile in her voice. 

Soon, she would get to see that smile in person.

And she was grinning like an idiot again. 

"So much worse," she said. "Now tell me when I should book my flight."

* * *

Clarke cradled her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she stuck the key into her car's ignition, listening to her voicemail. She had been surprised to find one from her doctor's office. She'd been in for her physical a few days before but wasn't expecting any kind of follow-up; everything had been totally routine. 

The message played: "Hi Clarke, this is Melissa from Dr. Frasier's office calling, following up on your recent visit. Please give me a call back as soon as you get a chance. Thank you."

As soon as you get a chance. Not when you get a chance. Not at your earliest convenience. As _soon_ as you get a chance. 

Telling herself she was probably reading too much into the word choice, Clarke waited until she got home to call, even though her heart was hammering against her ribs the entire time. She had the inexplicable urge to call Lexa instead... or maybe not so inexplicable. Calls to Lexa were her happy place, especially now that they were counting down the days – 94, down from 121 when they'd started planning – until they would become more than just words on a screen or a voice on the phone... but forced herself to call the doctor first. She could call Lexa after, and laugh about how she'd gotten herself all worked up when they'd only been calling because they'd forgotten to schedule her physical for next year. 

"Dr. Frasier's office, Melissa speaking, how can I help you?"

"Hi. It's Clarke. Griffin. You left me a message?"

"Oh. Right. Let me get Dr. Frasier." The line went silent, and Clarke felt as if her heart stopped along with it. Why did she need to get the doctor? Why—

"Hello, Clarke. It's Dr. Frasier."

"Hi. Um. Is... is something wrong?"

"No, no," the doctor said. "I just wanted to follow up with you on your test results. It's routine for us to test – with any sexually active female patient it's routine for us to do a test, and yours came back positive. You had said that there was no possibility, but we confirmed with your blood sample. You're—"

"What?" Clarke asked. "What are you talking about?" 

Dr. Frasier let out a breath. "Clarke... you're pregnant."


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh," Clarke said. "Um. Okay. Thanks." And she hung up. Her phone started buzzing in her hand a second later, and she stared at it like she didn't know what it was or what she was supposed to do with it. It was the doctor's office again, and she knew she couldn't pick up. If she picked up...

If she picked up, it might become real.

And this wasn't real. This couldn't be. This had to be some kind of bad dream. 

Her phone buzzed one last time before the call went to voicemail, and she turned it off before the notification that she had a new message could pop up. 

Clarke collapsed onto the couch and dragged her laptop into her lap. She'd been planning to call Lexa, but now her phone was a landmine, a ticking timebomb, and she couldn't turn it back on for fear it might explode the comfortable little life she'd built for herself into a million razor-edged shards, impossible to reassemble back into the shape it had been before the detonation. 

So calling Lexa was out, but Clarke could still message her. Only... what would she say? 'Hey babe, I just got the craziest call from my doctor, you won't believe it. _I_ don't believe it. They must have mixed up my results with someone else's.'

As soon as she thought it, she dug her fingers into the idea and refused to let go. Maybe they _had_ mixed up her results. There was no way she could be pregnant, she hadn't even...

Except she had. But they'd used a condom!

... the second time. 

"Fuck," she breathed. "Oh fuck." Her hand slipped to her belly, fingertips tucking under the waistband of her jeans, and there was nothing to feel there, of course, it was too soon to feel anything but the usual soft swell of her belly because crunches were the devil and who needed a six-pack anyway? 

A soft gasp of a laugh escaped, because the thought of a six-pack of the alcoholic variety was _really_ tempting right now. But she didn't think she had anything in the fridge, and even if she did, she couldn't drink it. Not if she was...

She pressed her fingers harder into her flesh, digging her nails in and focusing on the slight sting because at least that was something she could control. At least it was a reason for her eyes to be filling with tears, her throat closing as a lump too large and painful to swallow formed. But inflicting pain on herself wouldn't – couldn't, didn't – change anything, so she forced her fingers to uncurl. A mistake, it turned out, because the release of the tension allowed the floodgates to open, and in seconds she was curled on the couch, sobbing like something inside her was broken and she'd just been told that there was nothing and no one that could fix it.

* * *

Clarke wasn't sure what time she ended up dragging herself to bed, but when she woke up she felt more tired than when she'd gone to sleep. More tired than she'd ever felt in her life, and she hit snooze three times before she finally managed to force herself upright. She pushed back the covers and swung her feet over the side of the bed. The minute she was vertical, though, the world seemed to flip on its axis, and her stomach lurched like she was trapped on a small boat in heavy seas. She hadn't eaten dinner the night before, so she wasn't sure _what_ her body was trying to eject, but she barely made it to the toilet in time, and by the time she stopped heaving, she was ready to curl up on the bathmat for a nap. 

It was as if her body had been waiting for news from the doctor to confirm what it already knew before attempting to drown her in symptoms, and all Clarke wanted to do was cry. She thought about calling her mother, asking her what she was supposed to do, how she was supposed to get through this, whether it was going to be this bad every day or if this was just because...

Just because what? Because her body was punishing her for being drunk enough to imagine her best friend's tongue between her legs, and stupid enough to try to erase it by letting an ex fuck her without making sure he'd grabbed a condom first? Was that what this was? 

Logically, she knew it wasn't. In her head, she knew this was something that happened to pretty much every pregnant woman in the history of ever, that it was all part of the process. But it wasn't supposed to be _her_ process. She wasn't supposed to be pregnant! If she'd just... if only...

Tears welled up again, and she couldn't fight them back. So she just pushed herself up on her knees and reached into the tub, turning on the water as hot as she could stand, then forced herself all the way upright to strip down and climb in. With water streaming down her face, she could at least pretend that she wasn't crying, that this was any other morning, that everything was fine, really, everything was okay...

She moved in slow motion through her morning routine, glad that she didn't have any appointments until mid-morning because it was impossible for her to move any faster. She made some plain toast, thinking that would probably be all right even though her stomach was still sloshing in a way that made her disinclined to stray too far from the bathroom. A few bites into the first piece and her paranoia proved to be not so paranoid after all. It was another twenty minutes before she made it back to the kitchen, where she doggedly finished her meager breakfast, even though it was now cold and tasted like slightly charred cardboard. Thankfully, the second time around it stayed down. 

She found her phone face down on the counter where she'd left it. She turned it back on, and the first thing that popped up was notification for the voicemail from her doctor, which she deleted without listening to it. Next was a series of texts, all from Lexa, sent over the span of several hours.

**Lexa:** Stuck late at work?

**Lexa:** I hope everything's all right. You know I'm here if you need anything.

**Lexa:** Hopefully you're out doing something fun, although what could be more fun than hanging out with a Stranger On The Internet, I don't know. 😉

**Lexa:** It's getting late, so I'm going to head to bed. If you need me, call me. Doesn't matter what time.

**Lexa:** G'night. ♥

Clarke's eyes blurred, and she nearly threw the phone across the room, because all she wanted to do was text her back, or dial her number, and ask her, _beg_ her to come, to be here with her, to help her figure all of this out because there was no way that she could do it on her own.

Her thumbs pressed against the screen so hard her knuckles turned white, and she imagined herself typing.

**Clarke:** HELP.

**Clarke:** I don't know what to do.

**Clarke:** I'm scared.

**Clarke:** I know the plan was for you to visit in October but things happen and plans change and you said if I needed anything... so...

**Clarke:**

**Clarke:** How soon can you be here?

But her fingers didn't move. Nothing appeared on the screen. Because no matter how much she wanted to talk to Lexa, to see her, to fall into her arms and confess everything, to be held and comforted and reassured that she wasn't alone... she was. 

Lexa couldn't save her. No one could. 

The decision was hers to make; no one else could do it for her. Not just this first decision, but every decision for the next eighteen years and even beyond that. If she had this baby, she would be doing it on her own, every step of the way. Finn was out of the picture, and out of the question, as far as she was concerned. They weren't good together, not as a couple, not as – Clarke's brain rebelled at the thought – parents. There was no fucking way. 

If she had this baby, it would be _her_ baby, and hers alone. 

Which was reason number one why she couldn't have this baby.

There didn't need to be a reason number two.

She resolved to call the doctor that afternoon to get a referral.

By the time afternoon rolled around, though, she was too tired to make the call. It was all she could do to drag herself home, make some more toast (the only thing she'd managed to keep down all day; she'd gotten ambitious with lunch and had to excuse herself from an appointment to sprint to the bathroom) and collapse into bed. The same thing happened the next day, and the next, and then it was the weekend, and she managed to relocate from her bed to the couch so at least she had Netflix for company, even if she woke up to the screen asking her if she was still watching more than once. 

Toward evening, her phone buzzed, and she picked it up without thinking. She still hadn't answered Lexa's texts... she kept telling herself she would do it later, when she felt better, when it was over.

But the text wasn't from Lexa.

**Raven:** We still on for tonight?

Shit. She'd completely forgotten they'd made plans. Had it really only been last week? She didn't even remember what they'd decided to do, but whatever it was, she was way too fucking tired. 

**Clarke:** Sorry, I'm gonna have to bail. I think I have the flu or something. 🤒😷

**Raven:** Damn, that sucks. Anything you need? 

Clarke blinked at the sudden burning of her eyes. Fucking hormones. It was like having the worst PMS of her life, times about a thousand. 

**Clarke:** I'm okay. Thanks.

**Raven:** Okay. Feel better! 

Clarke put down her phone and restarted the episode she'd dozed off during. She willed her eyes to stay open this time – how was it possible to sleep _this much_ and still be tired? – but was still startled awake by the buzzer telling her someone was at the door.

She dragged herself to the intercom and pressed the button for video to see who it was and whether she wanted to deal with them, and was surprised to see Raven, waving and holding up what appeared to be a bag of groceries. Clarke buzzed her in.

When she opened the door, Raven was wearing a surgical mask, but one of those ridiculous ones with a face on it. Clarke thought it might be trying to be a zombie, and she couldn't help smiling even as she rolled her eyes. "I don't think I'm contagious," she said. _Unless lying is a communicable disease..._

"Yeah," Raven said, her voice slightly muffled. "Not taking any chances. I thought about going to the lab to borrow a HazMat suit, but the paperwork would have been a nightmare, so I figured this was the next best thing." Clarke could tell from the way the corners of her eyes crinkled that she was grinning. "Anyway, I figured you might not feel up to cooking, so I thought I would bring some stuff over. The finest homemade soup Whole Foods had to offer, some crackers..." 

Clarke's eyes started burning again, and this time blinking did nothing to stop the tears rising up and spilling over. She sucked in a hiccupping breath, and Raven turned to look at her. "Hey," she said. "Hey, none of that." She hesitated for a second, then reached out and pulled Clarke into her arms. "It's just soup."

"It's not," Clarke sniffled. "It's..." But she couldn't finish, so she just shrugged and swiped at her eyes. "Thank you."

"What are friends for?" Raven asked. She put some of the soup into a small bowl and placed it, along with a stack of crackers, on a plate. Next to it she set a big glass of ice water. "I'll put the rest in the fridge," she said. "Drink lots of fluids, get lots of rest, and text if you need anything."

And then she was gone as abruptly as she arrived. Clarke expected her stomach to rebel as soon as it realized she was giving it something other than bland white carbs, but by some miracle, the soup actually eased the queasiness, and she almost cried (again) with relief.

In the morning she woke up to a text from Octavia. It was a picture of her baby Nyko with a toy stethoscope around his neck, with the caption, "Dr. Nyko says get well soon!" Clarke smiled even as she teared up (seriously, it was getting fucking old...) and texted back her thanks to Octavia and Dr. Nyko. That afternoon, she got a long email from her mom, updating her on how things were going where she was stationed with Doctors Without Borders and checking in to see how she was doing, reminding her that even though she was thousands of miles away, if Clarke ever needed her, she would move heaven and earth to be there for her.

By the time Monday rolled around her head and her heart were calmer, even if her stomach wasn't. 

She was pregnant. It had been an accident, but as her fingers traced over her belly lightly, she wondered if maybe it wasn't a mistake. She liked kids. Loved kids. She had some adult clients, but for the most part, her practice centered around children and teenagers, providing them the opportunity to use art as a means to explore and heal the wounds – emotional but also sometimes physical – that had been inflicted on them. When she imagined her future, there were always kids in it, and she'd just assumed that one or two of them were her own. 

But more and more, when she imagined the future, the blank at her side where her partner belonged had been filled by computer chats and text messages and phone calls, and sometimes, when she really let herself drift into daydreams, a hazy image of Lexa appeared there. And no matter how hard to tried, she couldn't change that image to anyone else. Which would throw a wrench into the possibility of future children. It wouldn't make it impossible, but it would certainly complicate it. 

So maybe, unplanned though it was, having this baby, keeping this baby, was the path of least resistance. Even if the rest of the things she imagined, when she was drifting to sleep (for the third or fourth time that day) or just waking up (usually to go to the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time), never came to pass, at least she could have _something_. And even if she was a single parent, she had her mom, and her friends, and they would help her as much as they could, however they could. She wouldn't be alone.

When she finally called her doctor back, a full two weeks and countless voicemails after the call that had turned her world topsy-turvy, it was to make an appointment for her first prenatal visit.

* * *

Lexa heard the door open, then close, and then, like clockwork, "Honey, I'm home!"

Any other day, it would have made her smile. Any other day, she would have been happy to see Anya, who traveled so much for work they'd decided it made sense for her to move in with Lexa rather than paying rent on somewhere she never was, and even then, Lexa only saw her a couple of weekends a month. Sometimes Lexa joked that it was like she'd gotten divorced and only been granted visitation. But today... today she just stared at the piles of clothes on her bed and her open – empty – suitcase, and wanted to cry.

"Wow," Anya said, appearing in Lexa's doorway. "I haven't even been here five minutes and you're already trying to get away from me."

"I'm not trying to get away from you," Lexa said, picking up a stack of t-shirts and shoving them into the suitcase's gaping maw, then lifting them back out again because it made more sense to put her jeans in the bottom, didn't it? "This trip's been planned for a long time."

Too long, maybe. Long enough for everything to fall apart and for the countdown she'd written on her calendar to switch from inspiring excitement to something more akin to dread. But here she was packing anyway.

"Where are you going?" Anya asked. 

"Seattle," Lexa said. 

Lexa heard Anya's breath catch, not quite a gasp, and she glanced over at her before turning her attention back to her jeans, trying to decide whether they would take up less space if she folded them or rolled them. "Did she finally call you back?" Anya asked. 

"No," Lexa admitted, quickly rolling the jeans and wedging them into the bottom of the case, then picking up the t-shirts again and realizing she probably had too many. How many times was she going to change, anyway? 

"But you're still going." It wasn't a question. "She hasn't talked to you in months, but you're still going to fly all the way across the country to see someone who, from where I'm standing, seems to be making it pretty clear that she doesn't want to see you." 

Lexa let the t-shirt she'd been refolding drop before she got a stranglehold on it and turned it into a mass of wrinkles. "She never told me not to come," she said. 

"Lexa..." 

It was amazing how many emotions Anya could manage to pack into two little syllables. Concern, frustration, whatever you called the feeling you got when you thought someone was being ridiculous, and right at the end, in the sigh of the A, just a hint of pity. 

"What?" Lexa snapped, turning to look at her. 

"This isn't a good idea," Anya said. "I know you don't want to hear it, but this is starting to feel like—"

"Don't," Lexa said. "Don't even say it. It's not like that. _She's_ not like that. She's my _best friend._ "

Anya mimed being stabbed in the heart, and it almost, _almost_ got Lexa to smile. Just a little. But she kept her lips pressed firmly together, not letting them so much as twitch, because once she gave Anya an in, there would be no getting her out again. And Anya was right; she didn't want to hear it. Her relationship with Clarke – even in its current non-existent state – was nothing like her relationship with Costia, and what was happening now was _not_ history repeating itself. It wasn't. 

"She wouldn't just dump me for no reason," Lexa said. "She wouldn't. There's something else going on, and I need to find out what." She turned back to the stacks of clothing piled on the bed, but her head was spinning and for a second she couldn't make heads or tails of the mess. Why had she pulled out a bathing suit? Where did she think she was going to swim in Seattle in October? 

Anya came up beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. Lexa flinched, but didn't pull away, and she heard Anya's breath hissing out of her nose. "I got Chinese on my way home. Come eat."

"Not hungry," Lexa said, "and I need to finish packing."

"You're always hungry for scallion pancakes," Anya said. "I'll help you when we're done. You know I'm a master packer." 

Lexa thought about arguing, but she didn't have the energy. The last few months had been draining, and when the number of days left before her flight dropped into the single digits, her anxiety had ramped up to the point where she was lucky to catch a few hours of sleep a night, and her stomach was knotted so badly making herself eat had become a fight not worth having. 

"Fine," she said, and followed Anya out to the living room, where an array of cardboard and aluminum containers were spread on the coffee table, along with two pairs of chopsticks. She slumped onto the couch and reached for the scallion pancakes. "But I'm not sharing."

They ate in silence, and for a little while Lexa dared to hope that the conversation was over and Anya would let it go. 

Of course she wasn't that lucky. Anya had only been biding her time. 

She set down the empty lo mein container and scooted from the end of the couch to the middle, close enough that she could reach out and touch Lexa but she kept her hands to herself. "I love you, Lex. You know I love you. I want you to be happy more than anything, and I was hoping right along with you that this was it, that she was the one. But I think it might be time to let this one go."

Lexa felt her chest constrict and the world start to spin just a little too fast.

Her feelings for Clarke had developed one comment, one email, one text at a time, and it wasn't until Lexa had looked up that she realized how far she'd fallen. Now it was over, and that hurt, but not knowing why... that was what was killing her. She'd thought they were okay. She'd thought they'd moved past that awkward moment back on her birthday, she'd thought...

At first she'd sent a few texts a day, even though Clarke had stopped responding, expressions of concern but also small, innocuous things: silly memes and videos, pictures and posts that made her think of Clarke. She'd stared hour after hour at her computer, waiting for Clarke to sign on, sacrificing sleep to the time zone gods in the hope that if she just waited long enough... But Clarke never appeared, never answered, and daily became every few days became once a week, and finally she'd called and left one final message.

_"Hey Clarke. It's Lexa. I don't know what's going on, and I hope you're okay. I don't know if I did something wrong or..." She'd swallowed, sniffed back the tears that were threatening to spill over. "If I did, you can tell me. Even if you never want to talk to me again... you can just tell me that. I can't promise it will make me stop thinking of you, or worrying about you, but at least... I promise I'll respect it, if you say you're done with me. Which is why this will be the last time I contact you, because I don't want to impose where I'm no longer wanted. Just know that if you ever need me, for any reason, I'm here. Always. I hope someday..." Breath in, slow exhale... "I miss you. I love you." A sigh. "Goodbye, Clarke."_

Lexa swiped at her eyes and grabbed one of the napkins, blotting her nose. "I know," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "But I can't. If it's over, I need to hear it from her. Until I do..." She swallowed. "I need to do this, An. And you need to let me."

* * *

In the morning, Lexa was surprised to find Anya awake when she dragged herself zombie-like into the living room. Her suitcase was already parked by the door, waiting for her to make the pre-dawn trek to the airport. 

Anya stood up, and Lexa braced herself for another lecture, or Anya trying to physically block her path of egress, but instead found herself smothered in Anya's arms, her face pressed hard into the sharpness of her clavicle. "I really wish you'd reconsider," Anya whispered. "We can change your tickets, go somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else. On me."

For a fraction of a second, Lexa was tempted. It was a once in a lifetime offer, and there were so many places in the world she wanted to see. But every time she imagined herself exploring somewhere new, taking in the sights, trying new foods, going on adventures it would be impossible to have at home, it wasn't Anya she pictured at her side. Even Clarke's continued silence hadn't managed to kill the part of her that filled Clarke into the blanks of her daydreams. 

"I can't," Lexa said. "You know I can't."

"You're so stubborn," Anya said, letting go of her but keeping her hands on Lexa's shoulders, squeezing hard. "Call me if you need anything. Anything. No judgment. Okay?"

Lexa nodded. "I've gotta go."

Anya pressed her lips together, eyes narrowing and lips parting, and yanked her into another hug. "Take care of yourself."

Lexa wanted to promise she would, but they both would have known it for the lie that it was, so she didn't. "I'll text you when I land."

Anya sniffed. "You better," she said, and let Lexa go.

* * *

The bleating of Clarke's alarm jarred her awake what felt like only seconds after she'd fallen asleep, and she groaned and reached with one hand to turn it off, the other going to her belly as if to shield it from some imagined threat. She let her hand linger as she grabbed her phone and checked the app she'd downloaded for her a daily tidbit about what was going on in there, then forced herself up. 

While she was waiting for her coffee – she allowed herself one cup a day – to brew, she noticed that she'd never changed her calendar. Here it was, heading toward the tail end of October, and she was still staring at September... and had been all month. 

"I blame you," she said, poking her belly. According to her app, Mommy-brain was a very real thing, and just one of the many ( _MANY_ ) lovely side effects of the influx of hormones. She pulled the calendar down and flipped the page, automatically scanning to today's date.

Tears rose in Clarke's eyes, and the calendar slipped from fingers gone slack. "Fuck," she muttered, sliding down the wall, her knees tight to her chest (or as tight as she could manage anymore), pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until she saw stars. "God fucking damn it, fucking hell, fucking..."

When she took her hands away, the bright scrawl of a single word glared up at her like an accusation: LEXA!!! 

Today was the day she was supposed to meet her best friend for the first time. And she'd completely forgotten.

She hadn't meant to lose touch with Lexa. She'd meant to respond to her texts. She'd meant to sign in online... but every time she started to, she stopped, because what the hell was she supposed to say? She couldn't say she was fine because she wasn't. She couldn't act like everything was normal because nothing was. And she didn't know how to tell Lexa. 

Her drafts folder bulged with emails she had started and never sent, some of them only a few words, others pages and pages long, all boiling down to the same three incontrovertible truths:  
I miss you.  
I love you.  
I wish you were here.

But she never clicked send. Because if she did, it would be out there, and she wouldn't be able to take it back, and when Lexa found out what Clarke wasn't telling her, what Clarke hadn't told _anyone _, and left her, it would hurt even more. Clarke couldn't handle the possibility of that pain on top of everything else, so she let Lexa her slip away one text, one email, one voicemail at a time. When she'd listened to the message Lexa said would be the last a few weeks ago, her heart had broken, shattered, and she'd retreated into herself, curling tight around the tiny life inside of her, and cried herself to sleep.__

__Clarke had deleted the message, wishing she could so easily erase the feeling of something jagged tearing into her heart, not sharp enough to make a clean cut but tearing, gnawing its way through tissue and fiber and threatening to collapse her and leave her bleeding out on the floor._ _

__She forced herself to stand up, to take deep breaths until the urge to sob, or scream, or both, subsided. She smoothed her hand over her belly again and forced herself to eat, and shower, and get dressed, as if it was any other day. She had clients to see, and whatever hell she thought she was going through, theirs was worse. Cold comfort, maybe, but she took what she could get._ _

__By the time her phone chimed to remind her of her doctor's appointment hours and several clients later, she was starving. What else was new? Now that she could eat real food again without it sending her running for the nearest bathroom, her body seemed determined to make up for all the calories she hadn't managed to keep down during the first trimester._ _

__It was a nice enough day that Clarke decided to walk; one of her favorite cafes was between her office and her doctor's, and the fresh air would do her some good. She took deep breaths and let them out slowly, relieved when the combination of motion and oxygen loosened the knots that had formed in her chest and gut that morning and that she hadn't quite been able to shake. She knew the route well enough that she was operating on autopilot until she was brought up short by someone stepping in front of her just as she reached the café door._ _

__Clarke glanced up as she moved to sidestep and lurched to a halt when her subconscious recognized what her conscious mind couldn't comprehend:_ _

__" _Lexa_?"_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a head's up, I will be taking a hiatus from posting for the month of April. So yes, I am leaving you hanging on this cliff for at least a month. I'm the worst, I know. ;-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts with several rapid POV changes before settling down again. I apologize for any confusion that it may cause.

_She isn't coming._

Five minutes, ten, even twenty minutes after the time they'd agreed to meet, Lexa could tell herself that Clarke was just running late, something had come up, she'd been delayed at work or by traffic and she just hadn't had a chance to call or text to tell Lexa, but she was on her way. 

Half an hour and she'd ordered a second cup of tea and a croissant to justify her continued presence in the place. It wasn't so busy that she was taking up a table that someone else might otherwise want to occupy, but she still felt as if the staff was watching her, waiting for her to buy something or leave. She picked at the pastry, hungry but unable to stomach more than a few buttery mouthfuls before her stomach started churning. 

Forty-five minutes saw her staring at her phone, tapping on the screen every time it dimmed to keep it from locking, because her hands were shaking so badly she wasn't sure she would be able to tap in the code to unlock it again. She alternated between watching the screen as if doing so would make the three dots that told her Clarke was typing appear, and watching the door, as if that might make Clarke herself appear.

Neither happened. She could have texted Clarke herself, asked where she was and if she was coming, but in her last message Lexa had said she wouldn't contact her again, she'd promised, and she wasn't going to break that, no matter how long she was forced to wait.

After an hour Lexa had to admit the truth: Clarke wasn't coming. 

With one last look at her (blank) screen, Lexa shoved her phone in her pocket and picked up her plate and mug. She dumped them both in the bin to be bussed to the kitchen and headed for the door. She didn't know where she was going to go, what she was going to do, but it didn't matter. She knew she wouldn't remember it anyway. The only thing she was going to remember about today was that she'd flown across the country to meet the woman she thought of as her best friend, and she hadn't shown up. 

She chose a direction at random but made it less than two steps before stumbling to a halt as a familiar face appeared directly in her path. 

Clarke's name stuck in her throat as she brushed past, and Lexa couldn't unfreeze her limbs to reach out and grab, to stop her from walking by without even seeing her. But then Clarke paused, glanced back...

"Lexa?"

* * *

It couldn't be, but it was. There was no mistaking her, and as soon as Clarke saw her it all came crashing back, all the feelings and memories she'd been trying to box up and stow away. They'd almost escaped this morning, when she'd seen Lexa's name on her calendar, but she'd managed to fight them back, telling herself that there was no way that Lexa would get on a plane and fly across the country to see her. Not now. Not after everything Clarke had... or hadn't... done. 

Lexa's hand came up, her fingers and lips curling, the look in her eyes a fragile mix of fear and hope. "Hi, Clarke." 

And that was it. That was all it took. Two words and Clarke knew:

Nothing had changed. 

It was all Clarke could do not to throw herself at Lexa, wrap her arms around her and refuse to let go. Because she was _here_. Even though Clarke had gone AWOL on her, even though she'd given her no reason to make this trip and plenty of reasons not to, even though she'd somehow managed to forget that this was when and where they'd decided to meet, Lexa was still here. 

Clarke might have done it, might have thrown caution to the wind and let it blow her into the arms she'd wished for so long she could know the feel of as they closed around her, but a fluttering in her belly that wasn't just butterflies reminded her why they were standing on opposite sides of a chasm even though there was less than one square of sidewalk between them. 

_Everything_ had changed. 

"You're here," she finally managed to gasp. "You came."

* * *

Lexa nodded, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet lips gone dry. She wanted to reach out, to pull Clarke into her arms and hug her tight and not let go for a long time, because there were so many months – almost a _year_ \- of not being able to touch each other to make up for. She wanted to have the reunion (was it a _re_ union when you'd never met before, or just a union?) that she'd been imagining since before they'd even begun planning this trip, that moment when their eyes met and then their bodies, a collision that left them both laughing and breathless, and...

Lexa was certainly breathless, but neither of them were laughing. 

Clarke wasn't even smiling. She just looked startled – no, stunned – to see Lexa, like they hadn't planned this, like she hadn't known...

"I didn't think..." 

She _hadn't _known. Clarke had assumed, or maybe _hoped___ Lexa wasn't coming. 

Lexa didn't let herself reach up to rub the ache in her chest. She just nodded again, then shook her head, then shrugged, a tiny, helpless gesture. "I had to," she said finally, when she trusted her voice not to shake. "I had to see you. Even if..." She sucked in a breath. "Even if it's over... I had to at least know you're okay." She paused, waiting for Clarke to say something, to reassure her that she was okay, that this was all a misunderstanding. Because she certainly _looked_ okay. Better than okay, she looked beautiful. _Shocked_ , but beautiful. Amazing. Radiant. 

But she didn't say it. She opened her mouth, but no words came out, and Lexa knew. Clarke didn't have to say it. Her face said it all.

* * *

Clarke knew she had to say something, because she could see the light in Lexa's eyes dimming with every second that passed, but it was impossible to string words together when all she could hear was Lexa's voice and those three words left in her voicemail what felt like a lifetime ago. Those three words that Clarke knew she meant, but maybe not in the way that Clarke wanted her to mean them, echoing over and over but getting louder instead of fainter...

The silence stretched for an eye blink, a heartbeat, a breath too long, and snapped. Clarke watched as Lexa collapsed in on herself, the hope in her eyes snuffed out even as she forced her mouth into a grim, resigned smile. "It's all right," she said softly. And she turned to go.

She turned to _go_.

"Wait!" Clarke reached out and grabbed her hand, stopping her before she could take a step. "Lexa..." They locked eyes as Clarke drew Lexa's hand to her belly, and the swell that she could still hide if she dressed carefully, but couldn't pass off as an extra-large lunch anymore. "I'm pregnant."

* * *

For a second, Lexa was sure she'd heard Clarke wrong. She had to have; there was no way...

Then reality smacked her upside the head, reminding her that they weren't together, Clarke wasn't hers, they'd never even _touched_ , much less... But they were touching now, the warmth of Clarke's fingers burning into Lexa's wrist and the back of her hand as she held it pressed to her belly. Lexa couldn't feel anything – didn't know if she was supposed to feel anything – but there was a distinct curve to it, and a firmness that didn't come from just carrying a few extra pounds. 

Clarke was pregnant. 

Which meant there was someone else. 

Which meant Anya was right. 

Which meant this whole trip was for nothing.

Which meant fucking Anya was fucking _right_.

Clarke was still looking at her, searching her face for a reaction, the swirl of emotions in her eyes slipping farther and farther toward fear the longer Lexa did nothing, said nothing, but what the hell was she supposed to say? 

There was no Hallmark-approved reaction for a situation like this.

But she had to say _something_.

"Oh. Um. Okay." Lexa could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. "Congratulations." Because that's what you were supposed to say, right? When someone was pregnant. At least if they wanted to be pregnant, and obviously Clarke did or she wouldn't be this far along. Not that Lexa knew how far along she was. Not that she knew anything about any of this really, but she did know enough to know that if there was still a decision that could be made, there wouldn't be anything for Clarke to hold her hand to. 

Clarke laughed, and finally let Lexa's hand go, slowly, but Lexa probably just imagined that her touch lingered longer than it needed to before she let it drop away completely. "That's almost exactly what I said when my doctor called and told me," she said. "Except instead of 'congratulations' I said 'thank you' and hung up on her." 

Lexa didn't know if she was supposed to laugh too, but considering she was having a hard time drawing enough air into her lungs to breathe, she didn't try. 

Clarke's phone chimed, and she looked down on it. "Shit," she said. "Speaking of, I have an appointment, and the last thing I want is for them to tell me I have to reschedule because I was five minutes late, even though they're always running twenty minutes behind." She rolled her eyes. "I'll—" She stopped, and the apprehension in her eyes multiplied tenfold. "Do you want to, um..." Her voice was barely a whisper, and Lexa found herself leaning in, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and pull her closer, to bring her ear to Clarke's lips to hear her. "Do you want to come with me?"

Lexa blinked, absolutely certain that this time she had heard Clarke wrong. There was no way she was inviting Lexa along to her doctor's appointment, which had to have something to do with the baby. The baby that was Clarke's and someone else's, whoever was in her life now, whoever had taken Lexa's place (except it had never really been her place anywhere but in her imagination), whoever had triggered months of radio silence and heartache. 

She opened her mouth to tell Clarke that there was no way in hell she was going to be a third wheel to the happy couple, no way she—

"I don't want to go alone."

Lexa's heart tripped over itself, soaring and crashing before taking off running again, racing pell-mell towards what it should, if she had any sense at all, be tearing away from as fast as it could go. 

"Okay," she said. "Let's go."

* * *

Clarke opened her mouth to say it was okay, she understood, maybe they could... and then realized that Lexa had said yes. "Oh," she said softly. "Okay. Um. This way." She had to fight back the urge to hug Lexa again, because she wasn't sure that it would be welcome, and because she _was_ sure that she wouldn't want to let go. She settled for touching Lexa's elbow lightly, turning her toward their destination. 

They walked in silence too heavy to be considered companionable. There were too many things that needed to be said, too many questions that needed to be asked and answered, and no time for it. Clarke looked at her phone again and picked up the pace, dashing the last few steps to catch the elevator before it could close, because it was notoriously slow and she was already cutting it closer than she would like. Lexa squeezed in next to her and the backs of their fingers brushed. Clarke felt Lexa curl her fingers into a fist to keep it from happening again, and she knew she deserved that, but it didn't make it sting any less. 

On the third floor Clarke led Lexa down the hallway and into the brightly lit waiting room plastered with pictures of baby bumps and the chubby-cheeked, smiling little creatures that eventually emerged from them. She went up to the window and signed in; Lexa stayed a few steps back. Clarke wasn't sure if she didn't want to invade Clarke's privacy, or if she didn't really want to be here, and was thinking of bolting while Clarke's back was turned. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, maybe, but when the receptionist told her that the doctor would be with her shortly and she turned to go find a seat, Lexa was still there. 

"And so it begins," Clarke intoned as they found chairs side-by-side. "My appointment's at 12:30. Want to place any bets on what time I'll actually get called in?" 

"What are the stakes?" Lexa asked. 

"Loser buys dinner," Clarke said. 

Lines formed between Lexa's brows, but after a few seconds she said, "12:45." 

"I'm going with 1," Clarke said, knowing that Lexa was likely to be closer. Dinner was the least of what she owed Lexa. She held out her hand and they shook on it, then turned their attention to their phones. Clarke had the sudden urge to text Lexa, to see if it would make her laugh, but when she went into their conversation, it was just pages and pages of message from Lexa and nothing from Clarke, and it didn't seem so funny anymore. 

'I'm sorry,' she started to type, but the door opened and a nurse stuck out her head. "Clarke?"

"Are you serious?" Clarke asked, a little too loud, and Lexa snorted. "Here," she said, and got up. She glanced back when she got to the door and realized that Lexa was still half-standing, like she wasn't sure if she was supposed to follow. "It's all right," she said. "It's just an ultrasound." 

Lexa hesitated a second longer, then joined her as they stepped into the office. First there was the usual things – the weigh-in, the blood pressure check, the being sent to pee in a cup – before she was settled into an exam room to wait. Before the silence had a chance to get awkward, her doctor came in. "How are you today?" she asked, still looking at Clarke's chart. "Feeling better than the last time I saw you?"

"Much," Clarke said. "I feel like I got all of the energy that I didn't have in the first trimester back, and then some, and it's nice to be able to eat again without having to worry about how it will taste the second time around." 

Her doctor laughed. "Good," she said. "Enjoy it while it lasts. The energy, I mean. Food hopefully won't be a problem again... until the heartburn sets in."

"Something to look forward to," Clarke said with a grimace and a glance at Lexa. 

Her doctor followed her gaze, and her smile brightened. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I should have introduced myself. I'm Dr. Sharma."

"Lexa." She reached out and shook Dr. Sharma's offered hand. "Nice to meet you."

"She's visiting from out of town," Clarke said. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "For my birthday."

"That's right," Dr. Sharma said. "Happy birthday a few days early!" 

"Thank you," Clarke said, her eyes flicking to Lexa again, but Lexa was staring resolutely forward, her shoulders back and her spine straight in a way that wasn't just good posture. Tension practically radiated from her, and there was nothing Clarke could do. 

"Why don't you sit back, and we'll check the heartbeat," Dr. Sharma said. 

Clarke leaned back, pulling her shirt up and letting Dr. Sharma tuck a paper drape into the waistband of her pants to keep any of the ultrasound goo from getting on them. She bit her lip, feeling suddenly vulnerable and exposed, because there was no hiding anything in this position. She bit down harder as the cold gel hit her skin... and nearly jumped out of it when Lexa's fingers curved around her bicep, her touch warm and reassuring even with the fabric of her sleeve between them. 

She dared a glance over at her as she felt the probe pressing into her abdomen, and Lexa finally looked back at her, her expression softer than it had been since that first uncertain hello. The room filled with the rushing sound of the baby's heartbeat, and Clarke's chest ached as if her own heart had swelled too big for her ribcage, just as it did every time she heard it. She doubted it would ever get old. 

"Perfect," Dr. Sharma said. "It sounds great. At your next appointment we'll want to talk about getting you registered for a childbirth class, if you haven't already, and you're going to want to start thinking about who is going to be with you for the delivery, if you've got a friend or family member or if you're going to hire a doula, or both, so keep that in the back of your mind." After a few last checks, she excused herself, wishing Clarke a happy birthday again, and Lexa a great trip, and assuring them that the ultrasound tech would be in shortly. "I know that's what you've been waiting for anyway," she said with a wink. "I'll see you soon."

When the door closed, Clarke looked over at Lexa, crossing her arms over her belly so she was a little less exposed... and so her fingers brushed Lexa's where they still rested on her upper arm. She ventured a tentative smile and felt something inside her unknot when Lexa returned it.

"I thought the doula was part of your brain," Lexa said. "I wasn't aware you could hire someone to do its job for you." Clarke could see the corners of her mouth twitching, trying not to betray the joke. 

"In a way, that's actually what a doula is," Clarke said. "They're there to help the mother during the birth, and sometimes to advocate for her when she's maybe not in the best state to do so for herself. At least that's my understanding." She hadn't looked into it much yet, although she supposed she should, since there was a non-zero chance she might not have anyone else willing or able to be there for her. "But I'm pretty sure you're thinking of the medulla. Medulla oblongata." 

Lexa screwed up her face. "Sounds fake, but okay," she said, then winked, and Clarke laughed, and Lexa laughed too, and it was the first real, full smile Clarke had seen from her since her arrival, and it swelled her already too-full heart and threatened to shatter the cage she'd been trying for months now to keep it in. 

The door opened while they were still recovering from their fit of giggles, and the ultrasound tech beamed at them. "Don't let me interrupt," she said. "It'll just take me a minute or two to get things set up." 

But the moment had passed, and they were quiet while the tech did her work. Finally she turned and offered her hand. "I'm Holly," she said. 

Clarke shook it. "Clarke," she said. 

Holly offered her hand to Lexa, who twisted awkwardly to free her right hand to shake while her left stayed on Clarke's arm, like she was afraid to draw attention to the fact that they were touching by letting go. "I'm Lexa," she said. 

"Pleasure to meet you both. Are you excited?"

Clarke glanced at Lexa, then nodded. "I just want to know that everything's okay," she said. 

"Of course," Holly said. "Why don't we get started?" She squirted more goo onto Clarke's belly, and Clarke felt Lexa's thumb rubbing idly against her shirt when she flinched. She inched her hand a little closer, brushing against Lexa's knuckles. "Let's see..." Holly murmured, moving the ultrasound wand around. "Where are... there you are!" Her smile got even wider, and Clarke found herself staring at the grainy image on the screen, which slowly resolved itself into the shape of a tiny human. 

"Oh my god," she breathed. "That's..."

"That's your baby," Holly said, looking at her. "See, there's the head, and there's the—oh look, they're sucking their thumb!" She pointed to the screen, and sure enough, a tiny stubby thumb had found its way into a tiny sucking mouth. Holly continued to point out various things, but Clarke couldn't see them clearly because her eyes had filled with tears.

"Just a second," Lexa said softly. "Give her a minute." She let go of Clarke's arm to grab a box of tissues, offering them to Clarke, who dabbed at her eyes and sniffled. 

"Sorry," she mumbled. 

"Nothing to be sorry for," Holly said. "Happens all the time." She waited for Clarke to get herself back together, jotting down some measurements from the image on the screen while she waited. 

"Thanks," Clarke said, giving the box back to Lexa. Lexa just shrugged and put it back on the counter, but this time when she came back, she took Clarke's hand, and Clarke had to blink furiously to keep back a fresh wave of emotion as their fingers laced together. 

"Did you want to know the sex?" Holly asked. 

Clarke looked at Lexa, who rolled her eyes. They'd had a good laugh a while back about how ridiculous the whole gender reveal party phenomenon was and the lengths people would go to to force gender roles (and its companion, heteronormativity) on a baby even before it was born. "Touchdowns versus tutus?" they'd joked. "Tractors or tiaras? Wheels or heels? Cupcake or stud muffin? Ruffles or fucking _rifles_?! Are you _kidding_ me?" Then Lexa had found a post suggesting that if one wanted to avoid the aggressive gendering of one's offspring, one should dress them exclusively in costumes.

"Uh, _clearly_ it's a dinosaur," Lexa quipped, obviously remembering the same conversation. 

"No, that was last ultrasound," Clarke said. "You should have—" She stopped, bit her lip, turned back to Holly so she didn't have to face the hurt that flickered in Lexa's eyes. "I don't know," she said. "It doesn't matter to me. I just want them to be healthy." 

"I'll write it down for you," Holly said, "put it in an envelope. You can open it later if you decide you want to know." She grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something, then folded it carefully and tucked it into an envelope. Clearly she'd been prepared for the possibility of indecision. She offered it to Clarke, who tightened her fingers around Lexa's.

"Give it to her," Clarke said, nodding to Lexa, not sure where the sudden impulse came from. She'd spent so long not telling Lexa, not talking about it, and now... now Lexa was here with her when Clarke had had no right to ask, the first to know about the baby, the first – other than Clarke and her doctor – to see it, to witness its undeniable reality. And it felt right, at least to Clarke, and maybe she wanted Lexa to be the keeper of the envelope because it tied her not only to this moment, but to some future moment... maybe.

"This is just so you can blame me if it gets lost, isn't it?" Lexa asked.

"If I kept it, it would _definitely_ get lost," Clarke said. "I would lose my head at this point if it wasn't attached. This is so maybe it _won't_ , if we—I decide I want to know." 

"Fine," Lexa said, taking the envelope and tucking into the breast pocket of her flannel. 

"As far as health goes," Holly said, "based on your estimated due date, everything looks perfect. All of the measurements are exactly where they should be. Keep doing what you're doing, and I am confident that you will have a healthy, happy little one in a few months." 

"Thank you," Clarke said. There was another round of handshakes, and then Clarke cleaned the gel from her stomach and slid off the table, putting her clothing back in order. They went back out to the reception desk and Clarke scheduled her next appointment, then rode the elevator back down in silence.

"I have to go back to work," Clarke finally said as they stepped back out into the... well, not sunlight, this was Seattle, after all, but relatively light cloud cover. "I didn't... I forgot..." She stumbled to a stop and forced herself to meet Lexa's eyes. "Can we do dinner? I owe you anyway, since I lost the bet. And I'll see about rearranging things for the rest of the week. I can't promise I'll be able to clear it, but I _will_ make time. And we'll talk. At dinner. If you want."

"Text me when and where," Lexa said. "I'll be there."

* * *

Lexa watched Clarke go, resisting the urge to chase after her, to demand an explanation _now_ , not later, not at dinner when they would be in public (not that they weren't in public now) and no matter what Lexa might want to say, how she might want to react, she would have to keep her voice down, her emotions subdued, because otherwise what would people think? Not at dinner, after Clarke had had all afternoon to come up with excuses... if she even showed up at all. Because they hadn't set a time and place, and it would be easy enough for Clarke to just ghost her again. 

_She wouldn't do that,_ Lexa told herself. _She won't._

Hadn't she just said the same thing to Anya yesterday? (Could it really only be yesterday?) Maybe even then she'd been trying to convince herself as much as Anya. Maybe she was just as unconvinced as Anya had been. 

If Clarke _did_ disappear on her again, what would she do? She'd sent Clarke things in the mail before; she knew her address. But she couldn't just show up at her door. Clarke might call the cops on her, for one, and for another, she had more self-respect than that. If Clarke didn't text her to tell her where to meet, or if she didn't show up, Lexa would just...

Hell, she didn't know what she would do. 

But it didn't matter, because it wasn't going to happen. They would meet and talk and it would all make sense and everything would fall into place, and they would themselves again. 

Lexa realized that she'd lost sight of Clarke while lost in her own thoughts and sighed. It was probably for the best anyway; she needed time to sort out what had just happened.

What _had_ just happened? She ran one finger along the top edge of the envelope that poked out of her pocket, biting the inside of her lip hard enough she thought she tasted blood. Instead of coffee (or tea, in her case – coffee was too bitter) and pastries and hugs and laughter, their first experience together had been a visit to a doctor's office to get a blurry, sepia-toned glimpse at a blob that only vaguely resembled a baby (at least to Lexa's eye). _Clarke's_ baby.

She'd seen Clarke's baby, heard its heartbeat, held Clarke's hand while she cried over... what? The miracle of it all? What was she even feeling? Was she happy? Scared? She said she just wanted it to be healthy, that was all that mattered, but what did it _mean_? 

"Fuck," she muttered, earning a glare from a woman hustling by, plowing her way down the sidewalk with a stroller. "Fuck!" she said, louder, just to spite her, and then buried her face in her hands and rubbed hard as if she could somehow scrape the weirdness of the day so far from her skin.

She finally turned back the way they'd come, passing the café and heading for a park she remembered passing along the way. She wasn't in the mood to sightsee, and it was somewhere to go where she couldn't get in trouble for loitering. 

Lexa finally pulled her phone from her pocket and saw that Anya had sent her a message.

**Anya:** How are things going?

Lexa dropped down on a bench, her elbows propped on her knees, and tapped on the screen to call her. This was more than she could handle typing out with her thumbs. 

Anya answered on the first ring. "Hey," she said. "How is it?"

"She's pregnant," Lexa blurted. 

Silence. 

"Oh," Anya said finally. "Shit."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Lex." 

"Why?" Lexa asked. "It's not your fault."

"Sympathetic sorry," Anya said. "Even though you knew it was the most likely explanation – not the knocked up, but – it can't be easy, to go all that way to find out she's with someone else. I know you were hoping..." 

"She isn't," Lexa said. "I mean... I don't know if she is. She didn't—" _mention anyone, but that doesn't mean anything._ "When we ran into each other, she was on her way to an appointment. A doctor's appointment." Lexa swallowed, took a breath. "She asked me to go with her."

"And you told her where to stick it," Anya said. "Right?"

"She said she didn't want to go alone." Lexa braced herself for the blast of Anya's disapproval. 

Anya groaned. "Lexa..." Lexa didn't have to be able to see her to know that she was shaking her head. 

"When we were there, her doctor said something about her deciding who was going to be there for the delivery. Wouldn't she have just assumed, if there was someone else? Wouldn't Clarke have mentioned a partner, if there was one to mention? Wouldn't they have asked where he was, if he was in the picture?" The questions were mostly rhetorical; Lexa didn't expect Anya to answer them. 

Lexa could hear Anya breathing, so she knew she was still on the line even though she wasn't saying anything. Maybe she didn't know what to say, or maybe she was trying not to scream. Maybe a little of both. "Just say it," Lexa finally told her. "Whatever it is."

"You think there's still a chance, then," Anya said. "For your long-distance lesbian fairy tale daydream to come true." 

It was Lexa's turn to be silent. 

"Except she's pregnant," Anya went on, "and you hate kids."

"I don't hate kids," Lexa protested.

"You hate babies."

"I don't hate babies! They just... make me a little nervous, when they're all tiny and floppy and helpless. I don't know what to do with them. But once they're, y'know, mobile and verbal, they're all right. I don't hate the twins!"

"I know," Anya said. "I just... I keep coming back to what I said before, how this seems like—"

"Don't," Lexa warned. 

"No," Anya said. "I'm not going to let you stop me from saying it this time, because you need to hear it. This really seems like Costia all over again. You fall in love with a girl, and maybe she falls in love with you, too, and—"

"She loved me," Lexa said, her voice pitched low, bordering on a growl. "I know things ended up a mess, but Costia _did_ love me."

It was just that sometimes love wasn't enough. Sometimes love didn't outweigh the looks, and the comments, and the questions that they could laugh off on the good days, but that dragged them down on the bad ones. Love couldn't change the fact that the house they dreamed of one day having might have conservative neighbors and the white picket fence might get rude words scrawled on it and the two-point-five kids wouldn't be as simple as tab A into slot B, repeat as needed. 

She'd even said it in her note. The one Lexa had woken up to one morning, two weeks before the wedding:

_Lexa,_

_I'm sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can't. I tried to be brave for you – for us. I tried to be strong. I thought it would get easier, that I would get used to it, maybe that eventually it would stop, and we could just be like any other couple. And isn't it funny how somewhere along the line I started dreaming of just being able to be ordinary?_

_You were never meant to be ordinary, my love. And somewhere out there, there is a woman just as strong, and brave, and extraordinary as you. A woman who will love you for everything you are, who will be willing to face any and every challenge for the opportunity to be by your side to see who you become._

_I wish that woman was me. ~~I do.~~ (I have no right to write those words, considering...) But it's not, and I'm sorry. I love you so much, Lexa, and that's why I'm letting you go. Know that a piece of my heart will always be yours._

_Costia_

"I know," Anya said. "But you can't do this to yourself again.

"I can't do this to myself?" Lexa asked, "Or I can't do this to _you_? Because if it's the latter you're worried about, I hereby absolve you of any responsibility to... pick up the pieces or whatever it is you think you're going to have to do. Hell, I'll even give you a free pass to say, 'I told you so,' when this blows up in my face. Is that what you're looking for? Is that what you want?"

"I want you to be happy," Anya said. "That's all I've ever wanted for you. But she _disappeared_ , left you hanging, and now here she is months later with a baby in her belly and you're just supposed to... what? Forgive and forget and—"

"I don't know!" Lexa said. "All right? I don't know! But whatever it is... I have to try. I can't just..." Lexa shook her head. _I can't do to her what she did to me._ "I have to try."

There was a long silence, long enough that Lexa checked her screen to make sure that the call was still connected. "I got you a ticket home," Anya said finally. "The soonest I could get was a red eye tonight. My offer still stands. Anywhere in the world, on me."

Lexa knew Anya meant well. She knew she should say thank you, but she didn't. "We're having dinner," she said instead. "We're going to talk."

Anya sighed. "Well it's there for you, just in case."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't love this story and are thinking of commenting to tell me so, please click the back button, find something that is more to your liking, and leave some love on it instead.
> 
> If you are still thinking of commenting to tell me about what you didn't like, read [this](https://ironicsnowflake.tumblr.com/post/184726586108/fanfiction-is-a-gift) and [this](https://kedreeva.tumblr.com/post/181094522323/so-if-youve-watched-my-general-meltdown-about).
> 
> And if you _still_ insist on leaving a comment telling me how a piece of fiction is the worst thing that's ever happened to you, know that I'll just delete it. So how about you just save us both some time and just don't do it, okay?


	4. Chapter 4

Lexa wandered the park and the area around it until she got a text from the hotel saying that her room was ready. She made her way back, only getting herself turned around a few times before the building appeared suddenly in front of her just as she'd been about to give in and pull up the GPS on her phone.

She stopped at the front desk to get her key card then rode the elevator up to her room. Her suitcase was waiting for her inside the door, and she nudged it out of her way with her knee. She went to the window and threw open the curtains, but it did little to dispel the gloom, so she flipped on one of the lamps before collapsing onto the bed. 

She pressed her fingers into her eyes until bright blobs of color appeared, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths until the urge to cry, or scream, or both, subsided. How was it possible for something that had felt so right to go so spectacularly wrong? And yet somehow... still feel so right? 

She pushed the thought away. She wasn't going to do Clarke's job for her, dreaming up justifications for why she'd cut off all communication for months, forgiving her before she even apologized. 

Did she owe Lexa an apology? Did she owe her _anything_? 

They were friends, sure, but...

No. No buts. They were friends. And friends didn't just disappear on each other. Even if Clarke hadn't wanted to tell her what was going on, she could have at least said that she had some shit going on and she needed some time and space to sort it out. It would have stung, being cut out of Clarke's life and left to wonder if she was part of the problem and that's why she couldn't be part of the solution, but it would have been _something_. And something - _anything_ \- was better than the nothing she'd endured. 

There was a small, petty part of her that wanted to go back to the airport now, pick up her ticket and wait out the hours until her flight, and not say a single word. Just leave Clarke waiting, wondering, wishing...

But most of her knew that burning the last few boards of the bridge that connected them would only make her feel worse in the long run. Whether Clarke owed it to her or not, Lexa wanted to give her the opportunity to make it make sense and put them back on solid ground.

She dug her charger out of her bag and plugged in her phone. She still had a few hours before what would be considered a normal dinner time, so she took the opportunity to take a long, hot shower, washing airport grime and seatmate sweat and interminable café waits from her skin. She twisted her hair up in a towel and wrapped herself in the complimentary (for the duration of her stay) robe from the back the door. It was plush and warm, and she silently thanked her past self for making the decision to go for the higher quality hotel when she'd originally made her reservations. At the time she'd let her imagination roam, dreaming of sleepovers on cloud-soft mattresses and room service breakfast in bed with Clarke, and...

And none of that was going to happen, but she could still enjoy the amenities.

She flipped on the TV, which defaulted to what Lexa assumed was the hotel's own channel, advertising the various services they offered as well as touting nearby tourist attractions, all of the must-sees of Seattle. Lexa wondered if she would see any of them, or if tomorrow would find her back in her own room, in her own bed, trying to convince herself that the entire trip – the entire year – was just a bad dream that she needed to let go of and move on. Maybe by this time tomorrow she would be in Tahiti, or Australia, The Netherlands, Iceland, Abu Dhabi... Anya had said anywhere. Maybe she would close her eyes and spin a globe (if she could find one – who had a globe anymore?) and point, and they would go wherever her finger landed. 

Her phone buzzed, and she reached for it without thinking, then froze. What if it wasn't Clarke? What if it _was_? What if she was calling to say that after giving it some thought, she'd decided she would rather they didn't meet up again after all? She had a life to live, and she'd realized it was better without Lexa in it. What if...

There was only one way to find out. She picked up her phone and looked at the screen.

**Clarke:** Mild or spicy?

Lexa pressed her lips together. It was a game of sorts, one they used to play all the time. They would give the other a choice without any context – although Lexa assumed the context of this one was dinner – and demand the other pick one, even when it had no impact on them. 

What if she didn't feel like playing games? 

But if she didn't choose, Clarke would decide on her own, but the decision would impact both of them, and hadn't she done enough of that already? 

**Lexa:** Mild.

**Clarke:** Home-grown or exotic?

**Lexa:** Exotic.

**Clarke:** Sweet or savory?

**Lexa:** Sweet.

A pause, and then a minute later:

**Clarke:** Reservation made for 6.   
**Clarke:** Hope that's not too late.   
**Clarke:** I figured that's 9 pm for you, but I can't really get there any earlier.

**Lexa:** It's fine. 

**Clarke:** I'll send you the address.   
**Clarke:** See you soon.

* * *

Clarke made sure she got to the restaurant early – earlier than she imagined Lexa would be, even accounting for the fact that she was in an unfamiliar city and would probably allow herself extra time to get from point A to point B. She didn't want Lexa to have to wait for her, even a minute or two. She didn't want her to have even a second's doubt about whether Clarke would show up. 

She fidgeted with her blouse, trying to arrange it to hide the growing bump underneath, then remembered that Lexa already knew; there was no point in trying to hide it. Lexa not only knew, but she'd been there in the doctor's office, she'd _seen_ , she'd _held Clarke's hand_...

"Hey," Lexa said, jerking Clarke out of her daydream that was actually a memory. Her voice was low and soft and just a little uncertain but trying not to let it show. "You're here."

Clarke nodded. "So are you," she said. "Shall we go in?"

"I think we're still early," Lexa said. 

Clarke turned up her wrist, where she wore her father's watch. "A little," she said. "We can still let them know we're here."

Lexa nodded, and Clarke reached for the door with one hand and Lexa with the other, like things weren't strange, uncomfortable, _off_ between them. Like they were just friends going out to eat, no big deal, they did it all the time. Like they were the kinds of people who just casually touched each other. 

The worst part was, Clarke thought that they _would_ be those people... if she hadn't fucked it all up. She drew her outstretched hand back before Lexa was forced to choose whether to take it or pointedly ignore it, rubbing her belly instead, then quickly letting it drop again when she realized what she was doing. She approached the hostess' stand, trying to release the tension from her limbs. "Griffin, party of two," she said. 

The hostess checked the list, then nodded. "Right this way," she said, grabbing two menus and leading them to a table in the corner. There weren't many people there, and their table was out of the way enough that it was easy to imagine they had the place to themselves. 

Clarke watched as Lexa plucked the napkin from her plate and shook it out, then smoothed it over her lap, momentarily distracted by the grace of her long fingers. Piano hands, some might say, but Clarke knew she didn't – had never – played. "The food is good here," Clarke said, "but they're really known for their desserts."

"Hence sweet or savory," Lexa said, glancing up from the menu. Clarke forced a smile, and Lexa's lips curved slightly in answer before she turned her attention back to the page in front of her. They were silent for a few minutes, until their server came by to take their order (and their menus) before scurrying off to the kitchen.

With nothing else to look at, they were forced to finally look at each other. Clarke didn't remember Lexa's eyes being so green, or her lips so pink. She certainly didn't remember the smattering of freckles across her nose, and how had she never noticed them? Maybe Lexa usually wore makeup to cover them up but hadn't bothered? She hair cascaded in loose waves and curls over her shoulder, no longer pulled back from her face like it had been earlier, and she was so beautiful, and Clarke wanted to tell her so but the words dried up on her tongue.

The silence felt electric, buzzing and crackling between them, a pulse of energy sliding along the line that connected them every time either of them shifted or took a hitching breath like they were about to say something that never got said. 

Their appetizers arrived while they were still locked in conversational (or maybe anti-conversational) stalemate, and they thanked their server at the same time, and when Clarke looked at Lexa it was like a hole had been poked in the walls she'd put up, and instead of trying to shore it up, she'd let it crumble.

"This isn't exactly how I pictured our first d—dinner," Lexa said, almost smiling. "I assumed it would just be the two of us."

It took Clarke a second to realize what Lexa meant. When she did, she felt her cheeks warm. "It's not how I pictured it either," she said. "None of this is how I pictured it." She gestured between them, and then at herself. 

Lexa's chin dipped in a nod, and she took a bite of her food and chewed slowly. Buying herself time, or maybe this was just how she was. Clarke had thought she knew Lexa, knew her better than some of her friends she'd known for years, but now that they were face to face, she realized maybe that wasn't the case at all, and the weight of the not knowing felt like a vise around her heart. 

"How did you picture it?" Lexa asked, her face half-hidden by her napkin as she dabbed at her lips. "Us meeting?"

Clarke swallowed, feeling heat prickling the backs of her eyes. "I would meet you at the airport," she said. "Even though we'd decided to meet at the café, I was going to surprise you and be waiting when you got off the plane. Or through security, I guess, but I would be there. Maybe with a ridiculous sign." She caught Lexa's eye, and the slight quirk of her lips in answer to Clarke's own tentative smile. "Sometimes I imagined us crashing into each other, hugging for so long it started to make other people feel awkward. Sometimes we were the ones who were awkward, not sure whether the other was a hugging person, and of course we hadn't – didn't – talk about that, because why would we? I would offer to carry your bag and you would insist you had it, it was fine, you didn't need help."

Lexa laughed, a soft exhale of air through her nose and a twist of her lips, and Clarke tried not to stare. "You're right," she said. "I don't." And Clarke didn't think it was meant as an indictment, or as anything more than agreement with that part of Clarke's imagined meeting, but Clarke couldn't help sagging under the weight of the implication that Lexa _could_ impart it with, if she wanted to. 

"I'm sorry," Clarke said, her voice ragged with tears she was only just barely holding back. "Lexa, I'm so sorry. I hurt you. I never meant to, but that doesn't matter, intentions don't matter, it's the impact, and I know I hurt you and—"

* * *

Lexa held up her hand, stopping the flow of words. She had thought she wanted an apology, but now that she had one, she realized that those words didn't matter. She could see just be looking in Clarke's eyes how sorry she was. The pain in them mirrored Lexa's own. She didn't need Clarke to prostrate herself and beg forgiveness. What she needed was an explanation. She needed to understand what had happened, what had changed, how it was possible for them to one day feel like two parts that together were – could be – something greater, and the next for Clarke to just... disappear without a word, without a trace, leaving Lexa feeling like she'd lost some vital part of herself. 

If they were ever going to find their way back to solid ground, Lexa needed Clarke to make her understand it.

And if she couldn't...

"When did you stop?" she asked. 

Clarke blinked. "Stop what?"

"Imagining it," Lexa said. "When did you stop imagining how we would meet?"

Clarke looked down, blinking rapidly and then just kept her eyes shut, sucking in a breath through her nose and letting it out slowly. "I don't know," she said. "It wasn't a conscious thing. I didn't decide one day, 'I'm not going to meet her.' I just got overwhelmed with..." she gestured to her belly, "everything, and it was all I could do to make it through the day." 

"What happened?" Lexa asked, but it didn't feel like the right question, or maybe it was a question she didn't really want the answer to. "Where is—" Lexa stopped again, frowned, because maybe she didn't want to know that either. "Does the father—"

"Sperm donor," Clarke corrected, quick and decisive.

Lexa blinked, a chill running down her spine and goosebumps racing down her arms as she realized she'd gotten this all wrong. "Oh," she said. "I didn't know you were... you never said..." 

Clarke looked up again, forehead furrowed, then shook her head. "Sorry," she said. "I wasn't... I didn't plan for this. Just... he's not the father. I don't want him to be the father."

Lexa's fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to Clarke, to touch her and try to ease her discomfort, but wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? _She_ hadn't done anything wrong... or at least not anything that hadn't already been absolved. (Or she'd thought it had...) This was all such a mess, and Lexa could sweep it away with a few simple words: _It's okay. I forgive you._

But was it? Could she let it be? She ought to have more spine than that. More righteous indignation. But she'd never been good at watching people suffer. The world was cruel enough; she didn't have to be. 

And just giving up, giving in, it wouldn't solve this. It wouldn't solve _them_. If they didn't talk, if they didn't get it all out in the open, the wound would never heal. It would always be there, an infection festering beneath the surface, poisoning them, rotting them from the inside out. So she couldn't just let it go. 

She clenched her fingers in her napkin. "Does he know?"

Clarke shook her head.

"Are you going to tell him?" 

"I don't know." 

Their food arrived with their appetizers still practically untouched, and their server left them, hurrying away to escape the bubble of palpable tension that surrounded them. They turned their attention to their food, making polite small talk about it, offering each other bites from their plates, and Lexa's chest ached and her throat constricted because this is how she'd pictured things, only they were smiling and laughing, unable to tear their eyes from each other, instead of looking anywhere but. 

They didn't clean their plates, but by the time their server came back, they were able to pass off what was left as 'saving room for dessert', which was of course the whole point of coming here rather than going somewhere else where the main course was the star. 

"Did you know what you wanted?" their server asked. 

Clarke glanced at Lexa. "Can we see the menu again?"

"Of course," they said, turning to go get one, but Lexa cleared her throat, drawing their attention back. 

"I saw there were some samplers," she said. "Sort of a little of everything."

"Yes," the server said, nodding enthusiastically. "We have two – one that really is a little bit of everything, and one that's primarily chocolate. Did you want to share one, or...?"

"We'll take one of each," Lexa said. "To share... but one of each." She managed a smile that wasn't too forced, and they smiled back.

"Good thing you saved room," they said. "I'll put the order in right away." They disappeared into the back again. 

"You must really like dessert," Clarke said. "The portions are small, but there are a lot of them." 

"I do," Lexa said. "And I thought we could use a little sweetness. Or a lot."

Clarke pressed her lips together, and Lexa couldn't tell if it was meant to be a smile or a frown, or neither. "I'll be right back," she said. "I just need to use the restroom." She was out of her seat and away before Lexa could respond. 

Lexa pulled her phone from her pocket, thinking Anya might have texted to see how things were going, but there were no missed messages. In a way it was a relief, because she honestly didn't know how she would answer. They weren't at each other's throats, but they hadn't solved anything, either. They'd barely said a word that meant anything. Lexa put her phone away again, resolving that when Clarke came back, she would rip off the Band-Aid and ask. 

"Sorry," Clarke said as she sat down again. "Honestly, I'm surprised I made it that long. One of the many lovely side effects. It's better than it was, but—" She grimaced and spread her napkin back over her lap.

_Just do it,_ Lexa said. _Even if it hurts._

"Why didn't you tell me?"

This time Clarke didn't have to ask what she meant. She flinched, but she didn't look away. "I didn't know how."

Lexa frowned. "You just... tell me," she said. "You call me. Or text me. Or email me. You just do it." She'd given Clarke a million opportunities, and she'd chosen not to take any of them. "Even if you just said, 'I'm going through some personal stuff and I'm not ready to talk about it and I need some space,' at least it would have been _something_." _At least I would have known it wasn't something I'd done._

"I was afraid of how you'd react. What you'd think of me." 

"I wouldn't think of you any differently!" Lexa said, but even as she said it, she wasn't sure it was true. If Clarke had told her months ago, when it had first happened – assuming it had happened around the same time Clarke had stopped responding to her – what would she have done? How would she have reacted? If she'd found out that there was someone else – even if wasn't someone Clarke wanted in her life anymore – when they were still a little shaky after the birthday incident, would she have been able to just shrug and say, 'It is what it is'? Or would it have felt like a betrayal?

_She's not yours,_ Lexa reminded herself. _She's never been yours, and now—_

"Right," Clarke said, the bitterness in her voice snapping Lexa back into the moment. " _You_ would never make a mistake like this."

Lexa's eyebrows went up. She still didn't know the whole story, but the pieces of the puzzle she had were enough to give her a decent idea of what the picture was. "What mistake? Forgetting to take precautions in the heat of the moment? I would. I have. The stakes were just lower."

Clarke shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "It was all... it was a mess. _I_ was a mess. I didn't know what to do, and I didn't know how to tell you, so I just..." 

"Ghosted me," Lexa finished for her, hurt and anger bubbling to the surface and vying for control. "You could have told me, Clarke. I'm your _best friend_." _Or I was. I thought I was._

Clarke looked up, blinking back tears, but not fast enough to keep one from escaping. She blotted it with her napkin, but another chased in its wake. "I wanted to tell you," she whispered. "I did. When I found out... all I wanted was to call you and ask you to come and... just be here, I guess. So I didn't have to be alone with it." 

_So why didn't you?_ , Lexa wanted to demand. _Why didn't you call?_ But anger wouldn't change the past. Nothing would. She could only hope to change the future. 

"I would have come."

"I know," Clarke said, and her eyes were so bright, even swimming with tears. "Maybe that's why I didn't." 

Lexa's mouth opened, but no words came out. She didn't know how to respond. If Clarke had wanted her here, and known she would come...

"It would have been too much," Clarke said, answering the question that Lexa couldn't ask. "Dealing with... I don't think I could have handled more than one problem at a time."

* * *

Clarke realized they were the wrong words as soon as she said them, and the look on Lexa's face, like Clarke had just reached across the table and slapped her, confirmed it. God, was her ability to fuck things up infinite? 

"Lexa.... I didn't—I don't mean it like that." She slid her hand across the table, but Lexa drew back before she could make contact, and Clarke knew she deserved it. 

She watched Lexa's face, the subtle shift in the set of her jaw, the tilt of her chin, the tension that surged through her, and she watched as Lexa consciously, visibly, relaxed it all away, and looked up. "Maybe we just need to take a step back," Lexa said, her voice calm and even, soft without being a whisper, gentle but firm. "We know each other so well, and at the same time, we don't know each other at all. And you're right. It's a lot all at once. Maybe we both just need to take a deep breath and start from the beginning." She sat up straight in her chair and extended her hand. "Hi, I'm Lexa." 

Clarke laughed, relief flooding through her. She didn't know if this was forgiveness, but it was more than she had any right to expect. Lexa was offering her a second chance, a fresh start, and she could get it right this time. She _would_ get it right this time. She took Lexa's hand, and rather than shaking it, she squeezed, and Lexa squeezed back. "I'm Clarke," she said. "It's so good to finally meet you."

Their dessert arrived a moment later, and Lexa's eyes widened as she took just how many little confections there were across the two plates. Each portion was only a few bites, but there were enough of them that neither of them would be left wanting more... if they managed to get through them at all. Clarke couldn't help smiling, and when Lexa looked up and caught her amused look, she flashed a wry smile in return.

"It's possible I may have underestimated how much dessert this would be," she said. 

"Or overestimated our stomach capacity," Clarke countered. 

Lexa cocked her head, the corner of her mouth quirking. "I don't know," she said. "I think between the three of us we might be able to manage." 

Again it took a second for Clarke to register what she'd said, and what it meant, and it seemed impossible that after everything, Lexa could tease her about the thing that had driven a wedge between them (even if Lexa hadn't known it until a few hours ago). It didn't mean that everything was okay between them, but it still felt like a weight had been lifted from Clarke's shoulders, and she actually straightened in her chair a little, easing out of the slightly slumped posture she'd developed in the hope that it would help mask her expanding waistline.

"As it turns out, that whole 'eating for two thing' isn't all its cracked up to be," she said. "It's actually only a few hundred extra calories a day, and—" Clarke stopped herself, realizing that even if Lexa had brought it up, she probably didn't want to hear about prenatal nutrition, and Clarke's frustration at the constant nagging of her app to make sure that she was making the most of those extra calories. If she read about the need for increasing her fiber intake one more time... "Sorry," she said. "You don't want to hear about all that."

Lexa tipped her head slightly, studying Clarke for a moment before dropping her gaze to the plates in front of them. "Where should we start?" she asked. "I'm thinking one of the ones that involves ice cream, before it starts to melt."

Clarke nodded, and scanned the plates before pointing her spoon at a cookie cup filled with a scoop of sorbet and topped with... she wasn't sure what, but it looked like it was probably delicious. Lexa picked up her own spoon, and they broke it apart, each taking a bite. Now it was Clarke's turn to go wide-eyed, her hand going to her mouth, and Lexa nodded her agreement. It was good. No, amazing. The flavors of each element were intense, but well-balanced, and Clarke couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed a single bite of something so much. 

When that one was gone, Clarke gestured with her spoon to Lexa. "You pick the next one." 

They went back and forth a few times, commenting on the various components, the tastes and textures they enjoyed – or in the case of Lexa and the one that featured coffee as a key element, didn't care for. For a little while they were just two friends sharing not just dessert, but an experience, and Clarke knew this was how it was supposed to be. The question was, how long would they be able to hold on to it?

"You can talk about it," Lexa said, twisting the stem of the glass that contained only water between her fingers. "It's who— _part_ of who you are now. Literally. I'm not going to ask you not to talk about it." 

Clarke's eyes filled with tears (again, and she could blame the hormones but that wasn't all of it and maybe not even most of it), and she reached across the table, her fingers resting over Lexa's. Lexa looked up, meeting her eyes. "Thank you," Clarke said. "That... thank you."

Lexa shrugged, as if to say it was no big deal, but it _was_ a big deal to Clarke, because... "No one else knows," Clarke said. "I haven't told anyone. Not my friends, not my Mom..." She swallowed, bit the inside of her lip. "It didn't feel right to tell them before I told you, and since I couldn't... was afraid to tell you, I just hid it. From everyone." She sucked in a breath. "It wasn't just you I pushed away, Lexa. And I don't know if that makes it better or worse, but it wasn't just you. My friends here – Raven, Octavia – I've talked to them some, because if I didn't they would know something was up and show up on my doorstep and refuse to leave, but not about this. And they're busy with their own lives, so it wasn't that hard to avoid them most of the time." 

Lexa nodded, and turned her hand up so that the pads of their fingers brushed each other before she drew her hand back. "This one next?" she suggested, even though it was Clarke's turn to pick. 

"Sure," Clarke said. "That's one of my favorites."

* * *

Lexa shivered as they stepped out of the restaurant, wishing she'd thought to put on a jacket over her flannel. She didn't know if the temperature had actually dropped much, but with the setting of the sun and the dampness of the air – it wasn't quite raining, but it felt like it might at any second – it just _felt_ colder. 

She stepped away from the door and paused, not knowing which direction Clarke was going. "Thank you for dinner," she said. "And dessert, even though I feel like I might need to run a few extra miles tomorrow to make up for it." 

"You don't have to punish yourself for enjoying something," Clarke said. "And you're—"

Lexa laughed softly. "I don't think of running as punishment," she said. "And it was a joke."

"Oh." Clarke nodded. "You're welcome." Her breath hitched like she was gearing up to say something, but nothing came out, and after a few seconds Lexa thought maybe it had been a hiccup or something. 

"I should—"

"Can I drive you back to your hotel?" Clarke asked. "I know it's not that far, but it's—"

"Yes," Lexa said. "Thank you." 

Clarke blinked in surprise, like she'd been expecting a different answer. "My car's this way," she said. 

Lexa followed her and climbed into the passenger's seat, fastening her seatbelt without prompting. She was quiet as Clarke started the car and pulled out into traffic, not wanting to distract her, but also not knowing what to say. 

"I have a client tomorrow at nine that I couldn't reschedule," Clarke said, "but I freed up the afternoon, so we can do something then. If you want to."

"You didn't have to do that," Lexa said. 

Clarke glanced at her as they pulled up to a light. "I should have gotten the entire week free," she said, and there was an edge to her tone... not hard, but adamant. "I should have taken a vacation. I can't even remember the last time..." She shook her head. "I _want_ to," she said. "You're here. I want to spend time with you."

_But do I want to spend time with you?_ , Lexa asked, not out loud. She knew the answer, but what she wanted to do and what she should do weren't necessarily the same thing. She glanced at the clock on the car display. She still had time to decide, but it was dwindling. 

They pulled up in front of the hotel, and Lexa unfastened her seatbelt and pushed open the door. "Thanks for the ride," she said. "And for dinner. Again." 

"It's the least I could do," Clarke said. "And I _did_ lose that bet." She opened her own door and came around to the passenger's side as Lexa got out. "So are you?" she asked. 

"Am I what?" Lexa asked. 

Clarke looked up at her, and there was something so vulnerable in her eyes and in the cautious tipping of her lips into not quite a smile. "A hugging kind of person?"

_Oh._ Lexa bit the inside of her cheek and nodded, even though she usually wasn't, because this was _Clarke_ and all she'd wanted to do all day was wrap her arms around her and hold her (and be held by her) until they both felt a little less shattered. 

As Clarke's arms closed around her, though, she worried that it might do exactly the opposite. Instead of making her feel whole, Lexa felt herself start to crack and crumble, tears filling her eyes and spilling over, soaking into Clarke's hair, and she wanted to stop them, _needed_ to stop them, but she couldn't, and Clarke just held on tighter. She didn't try to tell Lexa that she would be okay, that they would be, because maybe it wasn't true, and they'd never lied to each other.

It took less than a minute, but it felt like an eternity, for Lexa to get herself back under control. Slowly Clarke's grip on her slackened, and they pulled apart, a slow peeling away from each other that left Lexa shivering even more than before.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa didn't answer, because they'd never lied to each other, and she wasn't going to start now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that if you don't have anything nice to say, you don't need to say anything at all. You can just click the back button and find another story that suits you better; there are plenty of fics in the sea. (You see what I did there?) 
> 
> Any unkind comments will be deleted. If you see one, please just ignore it and let me deal with it. No need to feed the trolls!


	5. Chapter 5

Lexa jabbed the button for her floor and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to still the shaking that started at the center of her and rattled through her limbs. Her vision blurred and cleared and blurred again as she blinked furiously against the tears that she'd briefly allowed to escape (although _allowed_ wasn't really the word...) when Clarke's arms had closed around her. When the elevator jerked to a halt and the doors opened, she stumbled out and down the hall to her room. It took her three tries to get the card into the slot the right way, and she almost screamed in frustration before the light blinked green and she was able to twist the handle and seal herself safely inside.

Her suitcase was where she'd left it, open because she'd needed clean clothes after her shower, but otherwise still packed. It would be so easy to zip it up and get straight back on the elevator, hail a cab, and be on her way back to the airport. From there all she would have to do would be to print her boarding pass and find her gate, and in just a few hours (well, more than a few, but maybe if she was lucky she would manage to sleep through some of them) she would be home. 

It would be so easy...

... except it wouldn't be easy at all. 

Leaving, walking away... it wouldn't be easy at all. 

She'd thought she wanted an apology, and she'd gotten one, but it hadn't made her feel better. 

She'd thought she needed an explanation, and she'd gotten one, or at least as much of one as there was to give. Which wasn't much, but was it enough? 

Was it enough to know that Clarke had wanted to call her, had wanted her there? Or did it make it worse because she hadn't done it? 

Were the moments they'd had where things felt almost normal, almost like the friends they'd been before they met, enough? Or was the awkwardness of all the other moments where they'd looked at each other and seen a stranger wearing the face of someone they loved – whatever form that love took – too much? 

Lexa thought about calling Anya, but she already knew Anya's stance on the whole thing, and she didn't want to be told she was an idiot for even considering staying and trying to work things out. She thought about calling Luna, who might be more understanding, but who might also find a way to reach through the phone and strangle her for waking her up in the middle of the night, knowing she'd spent the day chasing around two toddlers. 

She realized, with a bitter, choked-off laugh, that if it was anyone else, the person she would want to call to help her work through her ambivalence and figure out the best way forward would be Clarke. Because Clarke understood her on a level that her other friends didn't always. Even though the details varied, the tracks of their lives had been similar, and from the moment they'd first 'talked' online, they'd clicked. Under any other circumstances, they would work through this together.

And maybe that was the answer. Maybe it always had been. Maybe that was why she was here. 

She'd told Anya she wasn't ready to let things go, and even after talking – especially after talking – she still wasn't. Maybe she wouldn't get her fairy tale ending, but she didn't have to lose her best friend. One dinner where the pressure had been so high to say the right thing, where the stakes had felt life-or-death even though they would both survive no matter the outcome, wasn't enough to mend a rift months in the making. 

A week probably wasn't either, but it was a start, or it would be if Lexa let it.

Lexa pulled her phone from her pocket, looked at the time. If she didn't leave now, she wouldn't make it to the airport on time. The screen dimmed, and she tapped on it to bring it back, watched one minute tick past and then another, until it was too late. 

It felt as if the fist around her heart had finally loosened its grip, and she drew a full breath for the first time all day. 

She sent Clarke a text:

**Lexa:** I'll see you tomorrow.

* * *

She was staying. For better or worse, Lexa was staying, and whether Clarke deserved a second chance or not, she was getting one. She curled up in the corner of her couch, pulling her knees up as best she could (how long would it be before it was completely impossible?) and hugging them to her chest with one arm, the other hand covering her eyes as tears spilled and she didn't try to stop them even though she was so damn tired of crying, because these were tears of relief, and joy, and...

Love. She loved Lexa. In possible ways and impossible ones, she loved Lexa, who had flown across the country to try to rebuild the bridge that Clarke had abandoned to the elements. Her best friend Lexa, who hadn't given up on her even when Clarke had only bad reasons for months of silence and heartache. 

Which meant Clarke had a week to make her believe that her decision had been the right one. That all of this, that _Clarke_ , was worth it. 

No pressure.

* * *

The next morning Clarke found herself taking more care than she had in a long time in getting dressed. The only real consideration she'd been putting into her clothing lately had been whether things number one, still fit, and number two, hid the fact that there was a reason fit was an issue. Sure, she had to look reasonably put together and professional for work, but at the same time, she also had to wear things that she didn't mind if they got paint or various other art materials that might not come out on them. She wore an apron, or sometimes a smock (or occasionally both) but that still only covered so much. 

But she wanted to look good for Lexa. Even though Lexa had seen her, through the wonders of FaceTime and Skype, barely awake with pillow creases still pressed into her cheeks, and barely awake again at the end of a long day (or night) and drunk and hungover and happy and sad and furious and pretty much every possible state in between... she wanted Lexa to look at her and know that she'd put in some effort. She wanted Lexa to know that Clarke considered her worth the effort. (After all, she had months of a complete lack of it to make up for.) 

And maybe, just a little bit, she wanted Lexa to look at her and think she was beautiful.

So she showered and shaved and brushed out her hair until it shone, twisting it back from her face and catching it with a silver clip that Lexa had found at a craft fair and sent her for Christmas, saying it made her think of Clarke. She even put on a little makeup, and when she looked at herself in the mirror she smiled for what felt like the first time in a long time. 

"You think she'll like it?" she asked, even though there was no one to hear her... except that wasn't true and Clarke knew it. She couldn't remember if her app said the baby could hear her yet – so the answering flutter could be pure coincidence – and even if it could it wouldn't understand, but she chose to take its flurry of movement as a seal of approval. "Thanks," she said, pressing her hand to her belly. "I hope you're right." 

She made herself a quick breakfast and then had to hurry to her office – studio, whatever you wanted to call it since it was technically both – to get there in time for her appointment. "Good morning, Charlotte," she said brightly when her client slunk in. "How are you today?"

The little girl – or not so little, she was twelve now – shrugged. "Okay I guess," she said. She narrowed her eyes at Clarke. "You look weird."

Clarke bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Weird how?"

"I dunno. Pretty."

"Pretty is weird?" Clarke asked, losing the battle to keep her face in check. 

"For you," Charlotte said. "You've looked basically horrible since the summer."

"I appreciate your honesty," Clarke said. "And the compliment. I'm glad that I look better today. Why don't you start setting up?" 

"Yeah but why?" Charlotte asked as she went to retrieve the canvas she'd been working on for the last several weeks, and then her palette of paint, which had been covered in several layers of plastic wrap to keep the paint from drying out over the weekend so she didn't have to mix her colors again. 

"Why what?" Clarke asked.

"Why do you look pretty?" Charlotte asked. "Are you going somewhere after this?"

"Actually, yes," Clarke said. "A friend of mine is visiting from out of town so I'm going to show them the sights." 

Charlotte's eyebrows went up. " _Just_ a friend?" she asked. 

"Just a friend," Clarke confirmed. "Is it wrong to want to look nice for a friend? Or maybe I just wanted to look nice for me. Is there something wrong with that?" 

"No," Charlotte said. She was quiet for a little while, studying her painting with a furrowed brow before selecting a brush and getting to work. The painting was dark, but not so grim as some of her earlier works. Before it had only been her inner demons being given shape, with blood dripping from tooth and claw. When Clarke had asked her to put herself in the picture, Charlotte had shown herself as a tiny helpless child curled up in the corner of the painting, dying of the wounds inflicted by the monsters. In this painting, the demons were smaller and Charlotte was bigger, standing up with a shield and a sword, preparing herself to slay them. She was definitely making progress, both psychologically and as an artist, and the improved skills in one area fed the other.

"Don't take him to the Space Needle," Charlotte said when she had to go get more paint. "It's boring."

"Her," Clarke corrected, though it didn't really matter, "and I'll keep that in mind."

"But you have to show her the ugliest building _ever_ ," Charlotte said, flashing a rare grin. "Which is right by it, so I guess if she wants to she can see it. But like... it's not that exciting going up to the top." 

Clarke laughed. "The museum _is_ pretty ugly, isn't it?" she said. "But the inside is cool."

"Yeah," Charlotte agreed. "Where else are you going to go?"

"It depends what she wants to see," Clarke said. "But I was thinking of taking her to Pike Place today. That's pretty much a Seattle must."

Charlotte nodded. "Just don't get hit in the face with a flying fish." Her lips twisted into a smirk. "Unless you're into that kind of thing, which, y'know, you do you." 

Clarke laughed again. "I'll be sure to warn her." 

When their time was up, Charlotte cleaned up without complaint, which was unusual. Usually she grumbled about getting started, and then grumbled even more about having to stop. Clarke's change in appearance really seemed to have thrown her for a loop, but since it was a positive one, Clarke wasn't going to complain. 

"You did a great job today," Clarke said. "I'll see you next week."

Charlotte nodded. "I hope you and your friend have a good time," she said. 

"Thank you," Clarke said, waving from the door as Charlotte went to her foster mother's car and climbed in, already sinking back into her usual sullen self, which Clarke was starting to think was more and more of an act, but that was a conversation for another day... and possible one that would be had with a different therapist. 

She double checked that everything was back in its place, and glanced wistfully at her own works in progress, which had been stowed in a corner gathering dust for way too long. Maybe next week she would pull one out and get back to work. Right now, though, she had a... not a date, that made it sound like something it wasn't... not an appointment, that was too clinical... rendezvous? She snorted. Whatever she called it, she didn't want to keep Lexa waiting.

* * *

Lexa checked herself in the mirror to make sure none of her breakfast lingered on her face or between her teeth, then twisted to check the fit of her jeans... and rolled her eyes at herself because there was no way Clarke was going to be checking out her ass, and Lexa shouldn't want her to. That ship had sailed. But there was a little piece of her that couldn't help wanting Clarke to see her and regret what she was missing out on. 

Even though it had never been like that between them, and probably never would have been, even if...

She quickly pulled her hair back from her face, hoping to control the frizz, and grabbed the military surplus bag that she used for a purse. She made her way down to the lobby and stepped out into what passed for a nice day in Seattle. It was overcast but not raining, and the winds weren't too blustery. She'd grabbed a jacket just in case, but for now it stayed draped over her bag. She peered up and down the sidewalk, finally spotting a flash of bright hair in the gloom. 

She found herself smiling even before Clarke was close enough to see, and she almost tried to stop it, to stuff it down, because Clarke hadn't earned it, but what the fuck kind of thought was that? She hadn't come all the way, she hadn't stayed, to _punish_ Clarke. So if she wanted to smile, she was damn well going to do it. 

Lexa knew the exact moment Clarke spotted her, because her own face lit up, and this time there was no hesitation, no awkwardness, no is-this-okay-or-isn't-it? They just opened their arms and wrapped them around each other, and Lexa breathed in the scent of Clarke's shampoo and body lotion and probably laundry detergent and her brain filed it away with everything else she knew about Clarke. "You look beautiful," Lexa said, because she did. 

"Thank you," Clarke said, pale pink suffusing her cheeks. "So do you."

Lexa almost rolled her eyes; she knew she didn't, but they said beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and maybe it was beauty enough for her just to still be here where Clarke could see her. "Thanks," she said. "So... did you have something planned, or...?"

"I was thinking we could check out the Pike Place Market," Clarke said. "It's a great place a grab lunch, and just an interesting place in general. Unless there was somewhere else you wanted to go?"

Lexa shook her head. "Sounds good to me," she said. "Lead the way."

* * *

"Do _you_ need to take a break?" Clarke asked, not even trying to hide her amusement. "Because it seems like you might be projecting." 

Lexa flushed, realizing that they'd only been wandering the stalls of the marketplace for a little over an hour and she'd already asked Clarke if she was all right, if she needed a rest, at least three times. But she didn't want Clarke to push herself too hard. Not in her current state. Which, Lexa realized belatedly, was perfectly healthy, according to the doctor's appointment she'd been party to the day before. Being pregnant didn't make her fragile, or an invalid. When push came to shove – no pun intended – it made her strong as hell. 

"I appreciate your concern," Clarke said more gently, "but I _do_ know how to take care of myself. I promise I'll tell you if I need to sit down or anything." 

Lexa nodded. "I guess I just don't know much about..." she gestured vaguely at Clarke's midsection, "... any of this." 

"I know," Clarke said bumping her shoulder against Lexa's. "It's nice of you to check in. Just... maybe not quite so often." Her lips twisted upward and her eyes sparkled. "I do give you permission to alert me to any and every bathroom you see, though. Just in case." 

Lexa smiled back, forcing herself to relax her shoulders and let go of the tension she was carrying. "I'll keep that in mind," she said. 

"Did you want to sit down somewhere for lunch, or just grab something at one of the carry-out stalls?" Clarke asked. "We can find a table or bench to eat at if we do that," she added, before Lexa could express any concern about her ability to walk and eat at the same time, and Lexa blushed again. 

"I think I'd rather grab something," Lexa said. "Maybe a few somethings." 

Clarke grinned. "A woman after my own heart," she said. "Have you ever had a piroshky?"

"Is that like a pierogi?" Lexa asked. 

"Sort of," Clarke said. "These are kind of like a cross between a pierogi and a really small calzone or something. Come on, I'll show you." Lexa trailed behind her as she wove her way through the crowds (which were thankfully relatively thin) to one of the stalls and up to the window. They each picked out a savory piroshky for now, and a sweet one for later, and Clarke pulled out her wallet. "My treat," she said. She glanced over at Lexa with a knowing smile. "You can get the next one."

"I will," Lexa said, because there was no way she was going to let Clarke pay for everything. Dinner the night before hadn't been cheap, even if Clarke had lost their bet. They found a small table and sat down, and Lexa nodded in approval as she bit into the soft dough and flavors spilled across her tongue when she got to the filling. "Good choice," she said, holding a hand over her mouth because she was still chewing. 

"I know you could never tell to look at me," Clarke said, "but I do like to eat." 

_Don't look don't look don't look,_ Lexa told herself, but she couldn't help it. Her eyes swept down Clarke's silhouette and back up again, and when she got back to Clarke's face, there was that twinkle of laughter in her eyes again. What did she expect, though? A comment like that was practically an invitation to give someone a once-over! 

Not that Lexa didn't already know what she looked like, from pictures she'd practically memorized and various video chats. One of the things she'd first fallen in love with about Clarke was the fact that Clarke loved her body, curves and all, and refused to let anyone tell her that there was something wrong with being a size that was an actual number. Pregnancy had only accentuated what was already there. 

Lexa took a sip of her water to combat a mouth gone suddenly dry and tried to think of something to say that _wasn't_ about Clarke's body. But now that she was thinking about it, she couldn't seem to think of anything else, so she blurted out the question that every pregnant woman was probably asked a million times (and which she would probably know the answer to if she'd been paying more attention the day before): "How far along are you?"

"Nineteen weeks," Clarke said. "So almost halfway there." She grimaced. "Don't you dare—"

But it was too late. "Whoa-oh, livin' on a prayer," Lexa sang. "Take my ha..." She trailed off, realizing how much she wanted to sing the next lyric and how much she couldn't. "You left yourself wide open," she pointed out. 

"I know," Clarke said. She nudged Lexa's foot under the table with her own. "Just eat your piroshky, will you?"

When they were done they went back to wandering from stall to stall, taking samples when they were offered, making purchases here and there – some for now and some for later, which had Lexa questioning whether Clarke had some plan up her sleeve for dinner, either tonight or another night, and whether she was ready to actually go to Clarke's house and share a meal or if that would feel too domestic, too much like what she'd imagined when she'd let her thoughts unspool without stopping for a reality check. But if Clarke invited her, would she be able to say no? 

"Bathroom," Lexa said, pointing as they neared one. "If you need it." 

Clarke smiled. "I think I'm good for now, but good looking out. A month ago..." She rolled her eyes. "I'm told to enjoy this while it lasts – the second trimester – because after that everything gets awful again." She wrinkled her nose. 

"Was it?" Lexa asked, licking her lips and swallowing hard. "Awful?"

"The first trimester?" Clarke asked. "Yes. I was sick all the time, and tired all the time, and had to pee all the time, and... yeah. It was pretty much the worst... however long it was – it felt like an eternity – of my life." 

Lexa nodded, not knowing what to say. 

"Now I feel good though," Clarke said. "I have my energy back, and I can eat again, and I only need to pee about twice as often as I did before, so..." She shrugged, smiling. "So you don't need to worry about me, okay? I'm fine." 

"In my defense," Lexa said, "the only pregnancy experience I have was with someone who had twins. So I don't think there really _was_ a good part. It seemed like she just went from bad to worse. But I wasn't close to her... geographically, I wasn't close... so I didn't see the day to day. Maybe I only ever heard about the bad parts." 

Clarke groaned. "I can't even imagine," she said, her hand going to her belly, and Lexa's eyes followed it. "One is enough. More than enough." She let her hand fall. "But in light of this new information, I will give you a pass on your excess of concern." 

"How magnanimous," Lexa said, rolling her eyes, and Clarke nudged her, and she nudged back, and they scuffled for a few seconds until people started to glare at them, two grown women behaving like children. Lexa just glared back, until Clarke caught hold of her sleeve and tugged her away. 

They went down to a second level, where it was quieter. Without the need to focus her energy on dodging around other people, Lexa found herself replaying their earlier conversation, and what Clarke had said about how bad the first few months had been, and their conversation the night before about how Clarke had wanted to call her, to tell her, to ask her...

"Lexa?" Clarke asked. "Are you—"

"I wish you'd told me," Lexa said, her voice soft and a little rough around the edges from having to grate past the lump in her throat. "I'm not saying that to make you feel guilty. I understand..." But she didn't, did she? How could she? She'd never been in Clarke's shoes. "I guess I should say I don't understand, but I accept that I _can't_ understand. What it was like. What you were – are – going through. I just... wish you'd told me." She finally met Clarke's eyes and didn't let herself shy away from what she wanted – needed – to say. "I wish I could have been here for you from the start."

"Yeah," Clarke whispered. "I wish that too."

They just looked at each other, not touching, not speaking, and Lexa wasn't sure if knowing that they were on the same page now made it worse or better, because what good was mutual regret? The silence seemed to thicken until it grew so dense it felt like it had clotted the air in Lexa's lungs, and she had to turn away to breathe again. 

"Do you want to keep going?" Clarke asked. "We don't—"

"Yes," Lexa said, squaring her shoulders and forcing herself to meet Clarke's eyes again. "We do. I was promised flying fish."

Clarke nodded, and headed back up to the main level, where the crowds had multiplied in the time they were downstairs, making it more difficult to navigate. Lexa found herself constantly checking to make sure Clarke was still beside her. As they pushed into the area with the densest concentration of tourists, she felt Clarke's fingers close around her own. She almost pulled away, thinking it was a mistake, but when she looked over Clarke tightened her grip. "I don't want to lose you."

They wormed their way through the clusters of bodies – some in motion, others not, heedless of the obstruction they posed to the flow of traffic – and finally emerged on the other side, where there was room to walk side by side. But Clarke didn't let go. She just looked at Lexa out of the corner of her eye, as if to ask, 'Is this okay?'

And there it was again, that damn song: _Take my hand and we'll make it, I swear. Whoa-oh, livin' on a prayer..._

And maybe that's what it was when Lexa squeezed Clarke's hand: a wish, or a prayer. Or maybe it was just to say, 'It's okay.'

* * *

_If it's this hard after only one full day,_ Clarke thought as she pulled up in front of Lexa's hotel to drop her off for the night, _how much worse is it going to be at the end of the week?_

They'd spent the entire afternoon walking around the market and other attractions in its near vicinity (Lexa had declared the gum wall the most disgusting thing she'd ever seen, and had hurried away after barely more than a glance), and had ended up finding a place there for dinner, sitting down at a proper table with utensils and napkins and everything. They'd talked about other things Lexa wanted to see, or that Clarke wanted to show her, and by the time Lexa grabbed the check before Clarke could even think about taking it, things had felt... normal. Or at least how Clarke had expected them to feel when she'd imagined this visit, before everything. They hadn't talked about the baby, who seemed to have been lulled into stillness by all the walking, which made it easier for Clarke to almost forget for a little while. As they'd walked out, the backs of their hands brushing occasionally (and sending sparks up through Clarke's nerves every time), Clarke felt for the first time that they might be able to get themselves back on track after all.

She didn't want to let that feeling go. Left on her own for the night, would Lexa start having second thoughts? Would she wish she could take back what she'd said before, about wanting to be there for Clarke? Was that even what she meant when she'd said she wished she could have been there from the start? It wasn't the same thing; maybe the fact that she hadn't been made the idea of doing so going forward a non-starter. 

She almost grabbed Lexa's hand as she reached to open her door. She almost said, 'Don't go.' She had a spare room Lexa could stay in; it was silly for her to waste money on a hotel. But Lexa had insisted when they'd started making plans, because if she stayed at Clarke's place they were stuck with each other, and they hadn't known how or whether they would get along face-to-face, and she wanted the option of having her own space if she needed it. And she was probably on her knees, metaphorically speaking, giving thanks to her past self for being able to get away from Clarke now. 

Lexa turned and looked at her, and maybe Clarke imagined it but she thought she saw something almost like regret pass across her face, like maybe she didn't want the night to end either. But all she said was, "I had fun today."

"Me too," Clarke said. 

Lexa was still for a second, then just nodded and pushed her door open, stepping out. She closed the door and took a step toward the hotel, then turned and came around to Clarke's side of the car. She tapped on the window and Clarke pushed the button to slide the window down. 

Lexa gave a soft snort. "Really?"

"Oh." Clarke unfastened her seat belt and got out, sliding into Lexa's waiting arms. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into the curve of Lexa's neck, soaking in the warmth of her as the chill autumn drizzle edged toward a steadier rain. Someone behind them honked, and Clarke sighed. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yes," Lexa said firmly. "Sleep well." 

"You too."

Clarke was sure she imagined the brush of Lexa's lips against her cheek as she pulled away, or maybe it was an accident. Anyway, it was just her cheek, like you might kiss your grandma or something. It wasn't anything _real_. But somehow it still set her face alight, and slowly but surely, the rest of her body with it.

* * *

She woke before dawn. 

Now that the nausea and crippling fatigue had worn off, the stupid pregnancy hormones had decided to find a new way to make Clarke miserable: she was horny as hell. All the time. Even sleep gave no respite, because she was plagued by vivid sex dreams. Dreams that featured Lexa more often than she was comfortable admitting, even to herself. Even before she met her in person, in her imagination Clarke knew every detail of Lexa... intimately. Night after night she woke soaked in sweat, her body aching with what she didn't have and now never would... and her heart most of all. 

She'd had a brief, vain hope that meeting Lexa would make the dreams stop, that once she became real Clarke's subconscious would stop feeling the need to fill in all the blanks. 

Instead, if last night was any indication, meeting her had only made things worse. Because now Clarke knew how silky her hair was, and how soft her skin. She knew the scent of her shampoo, and of her skin, and how their hands fit against each other and how it felt to be held in her arms, tight but not too tight, like Clarke was solid enough to hold firmly but precious enough not to crush.

Now Clarke knew – or was starting to know – her tics and tells, the shifts in her face and body that betrayed the emotions she tried so hard not to show. She knew the soft catch in her breath just before she spoke, her almost unnatural stillness when she was really listening, like she so intent on hearing Clarke's every word that she couldn't so much as twitch. She knew how her pulse sped up, just a little, every time they touched. 

She knew that the more she knew, the more she wanted to know, because everything she'd imagined up to this point dimmed in comparison to the reality, and she also knew that the reality was they would only ever be dreams. 

And then there was the guilt, because if Lexa knew, if she had any idea...

Clarke's phone chimed, and her heart leapt. She grabbed it, expecting a text from Lexa, who had probably been up for hours unless she was adjusting to the change in time zones better than Clarke ever managed to, but it was from Raven.

**Raven:** You, me, O. Tonight. Six o'clock. Birthday shenanigans ensue. Don't you dare even think about blowing us off.

Clarke's head fell back on her pillow. "Fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be taking a hiatus from posting for the month of July - next update will be in August!


	6. Chapter 6

Lexa stripped off her shirt and let it fall to the bathroom tile, her sports bra soon joining it. Her leggings felt more stuck to her skin than usual, and she blamed the mist that had plagued her for her entire run. It was like running through a Stephen King novel, except without the dire consequences. 

"The only thing dire is the state of my hair," she said to her reflection, wrinkling her nose at the frizzed-out tendrils that surrounded her face. "Nothing a shower can't fix," her reflection responded. "At least temporarily." 

Lexa stuck her tongue out at herself and stepped into the shower, rubbing her hands over her face to scrub off the first layer of sweat. 

It had been a good run; she'd set herself a good pace and picked a route that hadn't required her to stop every block to wait for the light to change. She'd even found a park – she didn't think it was the same one she'd been in the day she'd met Clarke, but it might just have been a different section – and gotten to enjoy some mid-autumn flora along the paths. Now, as she rinsed the sweat from her skin and saturated her hair with conditioner to get out the tangles, she felt more herself than she had in days.

_Months,_ she amended. She felt more herself than she had since her birthday, when things had gotten strange with Clarke, and she'd spent weeks worrying about whether things were really as okay as Clarke said they were, and then...

_Don't think about then,_ Lexa told herself. _Think about now. Think about today._

Which was Clarke's birthday, and couldn't that mark a new beginning? When they'd parted yesterday, Lexa had returned to her hotel room with the feeling of Clarke's arms still wrapped around her, and this time it didn't made her want to cry. Instead she'd been smiling to herself, thinking about their day and how – even with a few hiccups and bumps along the way – it had been pretty close to what she'd imagined their time together would be. It wasn't as if she'd thought it would be _perfect_ ; there were growing pains in any relationship. So a few rough spots were to be expected. It didn't mean that things couldn't work out, if they were willing to work through it.

All she had to do was let go of her romantic notions and accept that Clarke was, and would only ever be, a friend. And there was nothing wrong with that. Romantic partners came and went – Costia had proved that – but friends stuck with you. 

When she was able to comb her fingers through her hair without them snagging, she rinsed the last of the conditioner and body wash away and toweled off, then wrapped herself in her robe and padded back out into the room. The screen of her phone glowed and she went to check it, but it was just a weather alert, telling her that it was probably going to rain today.

"No shit, Sherlock," she grumbled. A glance at the time gave her all the explanation she needed as to why Clarke hadn't texted yet; it was only just past 6 am. But to Lexa it felt like 9 am, and she ought to be well into her day right now... a fact that her stomach chose that moment to remind her of, rather loudly. 

"Oh shut up," she said. She picked up the room service menu and flipped to the breakfast section, cringing when she saw the prices. For the most part Lexa was glad that she'd splurged a bit on the hotel, but she had her limits. She cast around, looking for her wallet to go back out and find somewhere that was open. Somewhere _other_ than Starbucks, preferably. In a city of a thousand coffee shops, there had to be somewhere. She found her wallet first, then noticed the grease-stained bag sitting next to it. Her piroshky from yesterday – the sweet one she'd saved for later and hadn't gotten around to eating. Perfect. 

She dug in, savoring the flaky pastry and almond filling, and glad she hadn't gotten dressed yet as powdered sugar snowed down on to the front of the robe. When it was gone, she gulped down the rest of the bottle of water she'd taken with her on her run and pulled open the drawer she'd finally unpacked into to decide what to wear. 

It would have helped to know what they were doing that day. They'd talked about things they might do but hadn't made any definite plans. Lexa knew she wanted to do something special for Clarke, it being her birthday and all, but she didn't know what yet. If things hadn't gotten all messed up, she probably would have been planning for weeks leading up to it, but since she hadn't been sure she would even get on the airplane until she was buckled into her seat, she hadn't. 

So whatever it was, it probably wouldn't be a surprise, but that was all right. Clarke wasn't keen on surprises at the best of times, and she'd probably had her fill of them for the time being, what with... everything.

_The baby,_ Lexa forced herself to think. _And you showing up out of the blue. Or, well, sort of out of the blue. As planned, but after the plan had long since been forgotten._

Lexa puttered around, tidying things that didn't need tidying (and that would be dealt with by housekeeping later anyway) and scrolling through her email and various social media feeds until the clock ticked past seven, which was still early but not ungodly. 

**Lexa:** Good morning, sunshine! Happy birthday!

She watched as balloons and confetti filled her screen, the animation triggered by her words automatically, and that wasn't creepy at all, that somehow her phone was reading what she wrote and interpreting it on a very basic level. She was willing to ignore it, imagining the smile that it would (hopefully) bring to Clarke's face.

* * *

While Clarke was still contemplating how to do exactly what Raven said not to even think about doing – blowing her and Octavia off – her phone pinged with another notification. 

She tapped on the screen, and a cascade of confetti and balloons glided across it before she saw Lexa's message. A smile crept across her face before she could stop it – not that she wanted to – and she pressed her phone over her heart... and then laughed at herself for being ridiculous. 

**Clarke:** Thanks, babe. ♥

She quickly typed out another message.

**Clarke:** Breakfast?

She pushed back the covers and swung her feet to the floor, groaning a little as she stood up, which was getting more awkward by the day. She took her phone with her to the bathroom, setting it on the counter while she peed and not picking it up again until she had washed her hands, even though she could see Lexa had responded and she didn't want to leave her waiting.

**Lexa:** I had my piroshky from yesterday but I could do with something more substantial. When and where?

Clarke's heart did a little flip, and if this kept up her face would hurt from smiling before she even left the house. 

**Clarke:** There's a place about a block from your hotel that does a great breakfast. Give me half an hour?

She shucked off her shirt and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and the pronounced curve of her belly, and her smile came crashing down. She wasn't going to be able to hide it for much longer, and then what? What would people say? They would be sure to ask questions, most of which Clarke either didn't want to or couldn't answer. 

But she could make it through today, if she was careful. She could at least have a good birthday; maybe the last one that would be all about her, if she put in a little extra effort.

She picked up her phone again. 

**Clarke:** Make that 45 minutes.

**Lexa:** Works for me. 

Clarke showered, trying to let the water wash away the doubts that had crept in and stolen her good mood. When she went to her closet, though, she discovered that seemingly overnight her favorite pair of pants had become impossible to button. She threw them on the floor and found another pair that did still fit, barely, and a top that was drapey enough that if she looked pregnant, she could just blame the way it hung from her boobs, which thankfully hadn't grown despite all of the pregnancy books' warnings that they might.

She grabbed her bag and sent a quick text to Lexa saying she was on her way, because even though she'd built in wiggle room she was still cutting it close. She managed to find parking and hurried toward the restaurant, where Lexa was waiting by the door.

"Sorry," Clarke said. "Sorry I'm late." 

"Only by a minute," Lexa said. "And I knew you were on your way."

_See how easy it is?_ , her tone – which Clarke was probably imagining – said. _All you have to do is tell me what's going on and there's no reason for me to be upset._

"Happy birthday," Lexa added, holding her arms out slightly, and Clarke all but crashed into her, burying her face in Lexa's shoulder and clinging, her fingers dug into the back of Lexa's shirt. Lexa's arms tightened around her, and after a few slow, deep breaths, Clarke felt steady enough to pull away.

"Sorry," she said. "It's just been—"

"You don't have to apologize," Lexa said. "Ready?"

Clarke nodded, and they went inside. The place was busy, but not so busy that they had to wait for a table, and they were soon seated across from each other in a booth, perusing the menu. Clarke already knew what she wanted – she didn't _always_ order the same thing, but she had a few things that she rotated through, and today definitely felt like a stuffed French toast kind of day – but she tried to keep her attention on the page in front of her to keep herself from staring at Lexa, who Clarke would swear got more beautiful every time she saw her. 

When their order had been placed and the menus taken away, Lexa caught her in that green gaze. Her expression was soft but serious as she studied Clarke, finally asking, "You want to talk about it?"

Clarke started to shake her head – she didn't want to burden Lexa with her problems when things were still... fragile between them – but stopped. Because under any other circumstances, Lexa would be _exactly_ the person she would be reaching out to about something like this. And if they were ever going to get back to normal, or some reasonable approximation thereof, shouldn't she do what she would have done before all of this happened? 

Clarke sighed. "I got a text from Raven this morning," she said. "Saying we're going out to celebrate my birthday tonight. Me and her and Octavia. No excuses. And I don't know how to get out of it."

Lexa frowned. "Why do you want to get out of it?" she asked. "Is it because of me? Because—"

"No," Clarke said, realizing that this conversation was probably going to go sideways fast, and she probably should have just kept her damn mouth shut. 

"If you had plans with them, you don't need to change them on my account," Lexa said. 

"We didn't," Clarke said. "Or if we did, I forgot about them. But I don't think so." She realized belatedly how that might sound, how the words might sting. _Don't worry, babe, I only forgot about **you** , not about my other friends..._

Lexa's eyes narrowed. "Do they not know about me?" she asked, and this time Clarke was certain she wasn't imagining the edge in Lexa's voice. 

"They do!" Clarke said. _They've heard about you so many times they roll their eyes when I mention your name._ But she couldn't say that. "They don't know you're here right now, but..." Clarke shrugged. 

Uncertainty crept into Lexa's eyes. "Would I not be welcome? Because I can entertain myself for a night if—" 

"You would!" Clarke said, squirming at the disappointment that tinged Lexa's words. "Of course you would." Hell, Raven and O would probably jump at the chance to tell Lexa every embarrassing story they had about Clarke, and there were plenty to choose from, mostly from their college days.

Lexa took a breath, and Clarke could practically see her shoring up her defenses, subtracting herself and her feelings from the equation, and it hurt to watch. "Then what's the problem?" she asked. 

"I don't know," Clarke said, but that was a lie, and she couldn't push Lexa away by not being honest with her. "No," she said, dropping her voice. "I _do_ know." She looked down, put a hand on her belly for just a second before putting it back on the table. "They don't know. And I don't... I'm not ready for them to know. I can hide – that was part of what took so long this morning, finding something to wear were it doesn't show, but... they'll expect me to drink, and obviously I can't, and—"

"Tell them you're the designated driver," Lexa said, then waved a hand, dismissing the idea. "Tell them I don't drink. Tell them you're not drinking in solidarity."

"You don't drink?" Clarke asked.

Lexa snorted. "You know I do. But they don't." 

It was a possibility, and one that would probably work, but she didn't want Lexa to feel like she couldn't have a drink if she wanted one; Clarke was pretty sure if she was in a situation where she was meeting Lexa's friends for the first time, she might want a little social lubrication. 

"Or," Lexa said, "you could tell them the truth."

"I just said—"

"Not _that_ ," Lexa said. "I mean you can tell them that you don't want to drink. If they can't respect that..." She let it trail off, lifting one shoulder and letting it fall, but the implication was clear: if they didn't respect Clarke's decision to not drink, what kind of friends were they? "It's _your_ birthday. They should be happy to celebrate it however you want."

Clarke's shoulders slumped. "I just don't want them to start asking questions," she said. "Or getting suspicious."

"You're not going to be able to hide it forever," Lexa said, her tone gentler than before. "But do you think maybe there's a chance that you're overthinking this?"

Clarke pressed her lips together. "Me? Overthink things? _Never._ " 

"That's what I thought," Lexa said. She slid her hand across the table, the tips of her fingers brushing Clarke's, but pulled back as their food arrived, and Clarke drew her hand into her lap, clenching it into a fist as if to seal in the memory of Lexa's touch, because who knew how long it might be before she felt it again.

* * *

Lexa turned her attention to her food, because it was easier than dealing with everything going on in her head. Not that it was really possible to escape her thoughts, but she didn't have to dwell on them. She reminded herself that she'd helped Clarke work though all kinds of problems before, and Clarke had done the same for her. This was no different. The fact that she was here, able to look Clarke in the eye, able to reach out and touch her (had that been a mistake? Her fingers were still tingling...) instead of thousands of miles away with the buffer of a computer between them didn't change anything. 

Except who the hell did she think she was kidding? It changed _everything_. Because she couldn't just have whatever feelings she was having with Clarke none the wiser. She had to keep it off her face, out of her voice... didn't she? Or did she? Was hiding behind a mask of apathy a form of lying? 

And apathy wasn't really the right word; that implied that she didn't care. And she _did_ care, deeply, and Clarke knew it. Had known it for a long time. Maybe not the nature of those feelings, but she'd certainly been aware of their existence, and at least up to a point they had always been mutual. 

"I'm sorry," Clarke said softly. "I didn't—"

"Don't," Lexa said, looking up from her eggs. "Please. You apologize for everything, and you don't need to. Not to me."

"But I _am_ sorry," Clarke said. "You were smiling – we were both smiling – this morning, and now..." She sighed. "I just wanted to have a good day."

"It's only just started," Lexa said. "There's still time." 

Clarke nodded, but she didn't look convinced. She sawed off a bite of her French toast and chewed it slowly, looking in Lexa's direction but her gaze – and probably her thoughts – were a million miles away. Lexa had to fight the urge to reach out and touch her again, to anchor her in the here and now... and then wondered why she was fighting. Friends were allowed to touch each other, to provide comfort, to...

Clarke's eyes snapped to hers as soon as she made contact, and then she was gripping Lexa's hand. "I have one session today," she said, "in the late morning. It's an open session, and I thought about just sending out an email to everyone, maybe calling the regulars, but I know that some of them really rely on it as part of their routine, so I didn't want to cancel. It's mostly former clients who have transitioned out of regular therapy who just want a place where they can continue to use art to explore the things they're still working on without having to worry about the reactions of people in, say, a community center art class. Sort of a safe space for self-exploration, a judgement-free zone. I would want to ask them, but since it _is_ an open session I don't see why anyone would object to you being there... if you wanted to."

Clarke had talked about her work before, in general terms, but she'd always had to be careful to avoid specifics when talking about her clients. There had been times when she'd maybe said a little more than she should have, when the work started to get to Clarke and she'd needed someone to vent to, but Lexa had been a safe outlet because she would never meet them. 

Lexa had to assume that none of those clients were in this group; she knew Clarke would never do anything to violate their privacy or put her career at risk. And she wasn't going to pretend she wasn't interested in seeing where Clarke worked and what she did. Her dedication to her clients, and the marriage of her passion for her art and her overwhelming desire to help people had been one of the things that attracted Lexa to her in the first place. 

"I'd like that," Lexa said, and felt a few of the knots that had tightened during their earlier conversation loosen again at Clarke's smile. 

"Then we do lunch, maybe hit up a museum in the afternoon... and meet Raven and Octavia at six for whatever they have planned," Clarke said. "And I freed up all of tomorrow and Friday, so we'll be able to whatever we want. I was thinking we could go to Tacoma for a day; there are some places there that I'd love to show you." 

Clarke's fingers slipped from her grasp as she dug back into her breakfast with a renewed appetite, and Lexa let her words wash over her, smiling and nodding, chiming in here and there but mostly content to listen because every smile and laugh, every hint of excitement in Clarke's voice, was a balm for her frayed nerves, and by the time they were done eating – and Lexa had grabbed the check because there was no way she was letting Clarke pay, not on her birthday, and especially when she wasn't going to get to take her out tonight – she felt almost as good as she had when she'd gotten back from her run that morning. 

They got to Clarke's office – studio, whatever you wanted to call it – early and Lexa helped Clarke set up By the time people started arriving, Lexa had a newfound respect for the work that went into this – it wasn't just watching people paint and talking about it afterward. She did suspect that she might have been more of a hindrance than a help, with the number of times she'd had to ask Clarke where something was or where it ought to be, but Clarke didn't complain. When Clarke decided that everyone who was likely to be there was there, she introduced Lexa – a friend visiting from out of town – and asked if they were okay with her staying for the session.

"Only if she paints!" a boy – man? older teenager, anyway – called. "Or draws or whatever her jam is. No just wandering around watching us like a creeper." 

Everyone laughed, but Lexa agreed that although she wasn't much of an artist, she would give it a shot and not be creepy. It took a while to choose what medium to use, but she finally decided on watercolors, and set about trying to capture the shades and layers of gray that made up the Seattle sky. She was surprised when Clarke announced that there were only fifteen minutes left, and people should start wrapping up for the day, because she wasn't their mother and she wasn't going to clean up after them. That got the kind of laugh that went along with a joke that they had all heard a million times, but people did start moving towards the sinks and cabinets after finishing their last few touches.

Lexa waited until people had started to trickle out before getting up to rinse her own palette and brushes. She went back to where she'd left her painting and found Clarke peering at it. Lexa's fingers twitched, resisting the urge to snatch it away. "It's not finished," she said. She didn't know what she was doing, what the image was meant to be, but she knew that it wasn't done yet. It didn't _feel_ done... and probably never would, because who knew if she would be coming back here this visit... or ever.

"It's beautiful," Clarke said. "It really captures a mood." 

"Thanks," Lexa said. 

"Put it on the rack to dry," Clarke said. "Maybe we can come back another day." 

Lexa gingerly carried the sheet of thick watercolor paper over to the rack Clarke had pointed to and slipped it into one of the slots, then rejoined Clarke, who held Lexa's jacket out to her as she shrugged into her own.

"So," Clarke said, "are you ready for the ugliest building you've ever seen?"

* * *

"She lives!" Raven said, throwing up her hands in a 'hallelujah!' gesture before throwing them around Clarke. Clarke managed not to flinch, even as she tried to keep their bodies from pressing too close to each other. Octavia was next, and if either of them felt anything amiss, they didn't say anything. If they noticed anything, Clarke hoped they just thought she'd put on a few pounds and were too polite to comment. 

It was only then that they seemed to realize they weren't alone. Octavia's eyes narrowed. "Is that...?"

"It can't be," Raven said. "Can it?"

"No way," Octavia said. "She's not even real. Clarke made her up as an excuse not to hang out with us."

"Okay, assholes," Clarke said. "Yes, this is Lexa. Lexa, this is Raven and Octavia."

"Nice to meet you," Lexa said, with an awkward wave that she somehow managed to get away with. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Lies," Octavia said immediately.

"Unless she told you that I'm a genius," Raven said. "That part is true."

"We've heard a lot about you, too," Octavia said. "So much that we were almost convinced that you might not be a figment of Clarke's imagination." She grinned and winked, and Lexa's answering smile seemed almost genuine. 

"I showed you pictures," Clarke said. 

"Pictures you could have gotten from anywhere," Raven pointed out. "But okay, fine, she's obviously real." She looked at Lexa. "Don't worry, we don't hate you. Even if you did steal Clarke from us." 

"She never calls, she never writes..." Octavia complained. "She's always just typing, typing, typing away..."

"Stop," Clarke said. "I'm sorry, okay?" She clenched her jaw, swallowing back the lump in her throat. Yes, she'd blown them off, more than once, to spend time with Lexa, before the shit hit the fan. But that had nothing to do with the last few months, and she didn't want them giving Lexa shit for something that wasn't her fault. 

She felt Lexa's hand on the small of her back, and she turned into her without thinking, pressing her shoulder into Lexa's and resisting the urge to collapse against her completely. She could feel Raven and Octavia's eyes on them, and the tension was palpable.

"We were just kidding," Raven said finally. "Happy birthday, by the way. Guess I should have led with that." She flashed the grin that usually got her absolved of just about any social sin she committed. "So are we gonna get this party started?"

"Did you have something planned?" Clarke asked warily. 

"Not really," Octavia said. "We kind of expected you not to show up." 

Clarke flinched, and Lexa pulled her a little closer, lending her strength until Clarke could find her own. "What about bowling?" she suggested. "Like back in college."

"Hell yeah!" Octavia said. "Are you going to throw your ball into the next lane again?" She grinned. 

"Man, you were so drunk..." Raven added. "Did she ever tell you about that?" she asked Lexa. "We used to—"

"I'm not drinking tonight," Clarke said. "We're planning to go to Tacoma tomorrow, and we want to get an early start, so I don't want to be hung over." 

Octavia sighed. "I probably shouldn't either," she said. "I could always pump and dump, but—"

"Conversational foul!" Raven called. "No baby talk!"

Clarke flinched again, her hand jerking toward her belly before she realized what she was doing and wrapped it around Lexa instead. 

"No foul!" Octavia said. "I get ten minutes!" 

Lexa looked at Clarke curiously, and Clarke flashed her a smile. "After she had her son, O made us promise not to let her talk about him when we had a girls' night, since the whole point was to do something that wasn't mommy-related. Which proved to be impossible, so now the rule is that she gets ten minutes, once during the night, and then she can't talk about him anymore."

"Starting now," Raven said, pulling her phone from her pocket and setting a timer.

Octavia whipped out her own phone, showing Clarke (and Lexa, since she was right there) the latest batch of pictures of baby Nyko and giving a quick rundown of his latest achievements – lots of babbling and pulling himself to standing on the furniture – before Raven's phone trilled, signaling that her time was up. 

"Bowling?" she said. 

"Bowling," Raven agreed, and they headed for the lanes.

* * *

It didn't take Clarke long to remember why so much alcohol had been involved in their bowling trips when they were in college. Raven and Octavia were both fiercely competitive (Clarke wasn't exactly blasé about the possibility of losing either) and without a few beers in them, they all took things just a little too seriously. 

"You know this is supposed to be fun, right?" Lexa said. "You know that we're supposed to be celebrating Clarke's birthday?"

"That doesn't mean we're going to let her win!" Octavia said. 

"It's fine," Clarke sighed. "This is just... them. Us. It's not a big deal." 

Lexa pressed her lips together so hard they turned white around the edges, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she stood up, grabbed her ball, stalked up to the line and hurled it straight down the middle. With an explosive clatter, all of the pins went crashing down. And then she did it again, and again, and there was no more trash talk from Raven or Octavia, because what was the point when they were both going to lose? 

"I thought this was just supposed to be fun," Raven said. 

"I'm having fun," Lexa said. "What about you, Clarke? Are you having fun?"

Clarke swallowed a laugh. "I'm having a great time." 

Lexa tipped her head as if to say, 'See?' and went and threw her fourth strike in a row. 

They went out for ice cream after (the greasy bowling alley fare didn't extend to desserts) and the mood was a little subdued, but at least Raven and Octavia weren't giving her shit about her disappearing act or ribbing each other about their poor performance on the lane. Lexa had clearly made her point, and once they'd all had a few minutes to catch their breath and get a little sugar into them, the conversation turned to reminiscing about the past, and questions about how Clarke and Lexa had met and what Lexa did for work and the usual sort of things that were discussed when a friend from one area of a person's life met friends from another. When they finally parted, Clarke was pretty sure there were no hard feelings toward Lexa... and if there were, she hoped she never heard about it, because it had felt pretty fucking good to have someone stand up for her for once. 

When they pulled up to Lexa's hotel, Lexa was tapping out a message on her phone. A second later, Clarke's phone buzzed, and she looked down to see a text from Lexa. 

**Lexa:** 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘 😘

Clarke didn't need to count to know there were twenty-eight of them: one for every year she'd been alive, and one to grow on. She looked over at Lexa, who was watching her out of the corner of her eye. 

"You know I'm right here, right?" Clarke said, meaning for it to come out light, joking, but missing the mark by a wide margin.

"I know," Lexa said, her voice barely a whisper. "But I can't. I wish..." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't." 

Clarke nodded. She understood. She almost wished she didn't, but she did. 

Lexa pushed open her door and climbed out, and Clarke quickly unbuckled her seatbelt, hurrying around to the other side of the car, afraid Lexa might just keep walking. But she waited, and didn't hesitate to accept the hug Clarke offered, so maybe things were – or would be – all right after all. 

This time Clarke was sure that she felt Lexa's lips against her cheek, a soft kiss back by her ear before she whispered, "Happy birthday, Clarke." 

"Happy birthday, Lexa," Clarke answered, which was obviously not right but she couldn't think of anything else to say, because that wasn't really what either of them were saying, was it? 

Lexa just smiled as she pulled away, her touch lingering for as long as she could, finally releasing Clarke's hands after a final squeeze. "I can't wait for tomorrow," she said, and it was like fireworks went off in Clarke's heart. 

Morning couldn't come soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

_Well,_ Lexa thought as she dropped into bed, _that could have gone better._ It could have one worse, too, she supposed. At least she and Clarke's friends – although there was a part of her that was hesitant to call them that, considering how little respect they seemed to have for Clarke – had parted on okay terms. Maybe she'd just thrown the dynamic off with her unexpected presence. Maybe in some strange way they'd been trying to show off for her, or stake their claim, like, 'See all these memories we have with Clarke that you don't?' Maybe she just didn't understand how friendships worked; it wasn't as if she had many of her own. Probably she shouldn't have shut down their not-so-friendly rivalry and shit-talking by showing them all up... although Clarke had seemed to enjoy it. 

She considered texting Clarke and asking her if Raven or Octavia had said anything about her, but she didn't want to seem insecure, and anyway, did she really care what they thought? It wasn't like she was going to see them again any time soon. In a few days – was it really already only a few days? – she would be back on the other side of the country, and Clarke could go back to her normal routine with them, whatever that consisted of. 

Her phone pinged and she grabbed it from the nightstand, expecting it to be Clarke because it was too late to be anyone else, but it was an alert from Facebook, asking if she wanted to accept Octavia Blake-Ash's friend request. She opened the app and clicked 'yes' because she didn't want to be rude. She never checked Facebook; it had been Costia who had insisted she needed one, back when they were planning the wedding. She'd stopped updating it after Costia left. Hell, the last picture she'd posted was of the two of them...

Lexa quickly scrolled through her phone and posted a new picture, a selfie she'd snapped earlier of her and Clarke with their faces pressed together in front of MoPOP, which had been, as Clarke had promised, the ugliest building she'd ever seen. She tagged Clarke in it and put her phone away, holding on to the memory of what it had felt like to put her arm around Clarke, hug her to her side, and smile so wide it made her cheeks hurt. 

She finally dropped off to sleep when the sugar crash from the ice cream hit, only to wake again what felt like minutes later to a room that was still dark. She squinted at her phone screen, trying to filter out enough of its glow to read the time. 4:44 am. 

_Make a wish,_ Costia whispered, as she had every time they'd caught the time when it was all the same number. 

_I wish I could forget you,_ Lexa thought, then kicked herself for wasting her wish. She should have wished for a sunny day, or an amazing rest of her trip, or for Clarke to— She hit the brakes on that train of thought fast. She shouldn't – wouldn't – wish for Clarke to do anything. Not that she really believed in wishes. But the only person she could control was herself, and if she wanted something to happen, she needed to take action, not just wish. If wishes were horses and all that. 

She closed her eyes, trying to get back to sleep, but it was no use. She finally typed a message to Luna, who she knew would be up. It was almost 8 am there, after all, and even if one of the twins slept in, the other would be up bright and early; that was just how it worked. 

**Lexa:** How are my favorite monsters?

A minute later an image popped up on her screen of two sticky-faced, crumby-handed toddlers grinning toothily at the camera. 

**Luna:** Their usual angelic selves. 

Lexa laughed. 

**Lexa:** I can see that. Tell them I miss them and I love them.

**Luna:** You could come tell them yourself...

Lexa felt a pang of guilt. She really should make more of an effort to visit Luna and the babies. It wasn't as if she could blame work for keeping her tied to her home. She could bring her laptop, and therefore work, with her anywhere. And she did love them and miss them. All three of them. It was just more chaos than Lexa was generally prepared to deal with, so she always found some excuse. 

**Lexa:** Soon. I promise.

**Luna:** I'll hold you to that.

**Lexa:** Give them a million hugs and kisses from me.

**Luna:** Always.

Then, a second later:

**Luna:** GTG milk 911 

**Lexa:** I hope no one's crying. 😉

**Luna:** you know they are ttyl 😘

Lexa put her phone back on the nightstand and got up to get ready for a run, even though it was still dark. Although they hadn't set a time, Clarke had said she wanted to get an early start... unless that had just been an excuse to keep her friends off her back about drinking. In any case, there didn't seem to be any point in waiting when the sun wouldn't be up for hours yet. 

The air was cool and a bit clammy when she stepped outside, but it wasn't raining. She headed for the park again, figuring it would let her get some distance in without needing to worry about traffic, and it didn't take long for her to settle into a comfortable pace. She let her thoughts flow as she moved, not trying to force them toward (or away from) anything in particular, and not trying to hold on to them longer than she needed to. By the time she slowed to a walk to cool down, she was calm, at peace. And, by some miracle, it still wasn't raining. 

She was surprised to find a text from Clarke waiting when she got out of the shower. 

**Clarke:** Woke up early – want to meet for breakfast?

**Lexa:** Love to. Everything all right?

**Clarke:** Everything's great. Café?

**Lexa:** Works for me. Meet in 30? Not dressed yet from shower.

**Clarke:** Perfect. Can't wait.

Lexa dropped her phone and wrapped her arms around herself, laughing at how ridiculous she was, but she couldn't help it. How was it possible for so few words to make her feel so good? She rifled through her drawers – well, drawer, really – selecting an outfit that was comfortable and casual, but that still made her look – and maybe more importantly, _feel_ \- good. She combed out her hair and pulled it back from her face with a clip, then grabbed her jacket and bag and was out the door.

* * *

Clarke pushed herself away from the side of the building as Lexa approached, and slid easily into her arms when she opened them. She breathed in deep, then gusted out a laugh against Lexa's neck. "Sorry," she said. "I swear I'm not sniffing you." 

_Except I maybe a little bit am,_ she thought. Because along with being smart and passionate and fun and funny and beautiful, Lexa also smelled amazing. 

Lexa laughed, loosening her hold on Clarke but not letting go completely. "Are you not sniffing me because I smell good, or because I smell bad? Because I swear I showered after running." She grinned. 

"Don't worry, you smell fine," Clarke said. "Shall we?" She motioned toward the door, and Lexa nodded. They entered arm in arm and went to the counter to place their order. "It's on me," Clarke said, squeezing Lexa's arm where her hand was still looped through. "You can get the next one." 

Lexa nodded. "I'll go find us a table," she said, laying her hand over Clarke's before slipping her arm from her grasp and heading for a table that had just been vacated by a couple of third shift workers who had decided to grab a coffee before heading home to bed. 

_Welcome to Seattle,_ Clarke thought. She paid for their drinks and pastries and headed over to the pickup counter to wait. There was another woman waiting, and she smiled at Clarke as she approached. 

"How long have you two been together?" she asked. 

Clarke's mouth dropped open, ready to set the record straight, but then she stopped. _Don't do it, Griffin,_ she thought. _Don't you dare._ "Four months," she said. The span between Lexa's birthday and her own. "Yesterday." 

The woman smiled. "Congratulations," she said. Her name was called and she grabbed her to-go cup. "I wish you the best!" 

"Thank you!" Clarke said, smiling back at her. Maybe she shouldn't have lied, but what was the harm in it, really? If it brightened the woman's day to think about the cute couple she'd seen at the coffee shop that morning, was that so bad? 

Her name was called and she grabbed their mugs, carrying them over to the table where Lexa was waiting, her breakfast sandwich still untouched. "You didn't have to wait," Clarke said. 

"I don't mind," Lexa said, taking her drink from Clarke. She waited for Clarke to sit down across from her before taking a sip. "So are we going to Tacoma today, or did you just say that to keep your friends from hounding you about having a beer?"

"That was my plan," Clarke said. "Unless you don't want to. I'm sorry about them, by the way. They're... they can be a little abrasive sometimes. And they think they're funnier than they actually are," she added, remembering the jokes about not believing Lexa was real. 

"So can I," Lexa said. "Be abrasive, I mean. I would say I'm sorry if I offended them, but I'm not, so..." She shrugged, the corner of her mouth tipping up, and Clarke couldn't help smiling. "Octavia sent me a friend request, so I guess I can't have offended her _too_ badly."

"I thought you didn't have a Facebook," Clarke said. 

"I think I said I don't _use_ Facebook, which is true," Lexa said. "Not in a long time. I posted last night, though." She tapped on her phone, then turned the screen to face Clarke so she could see the picture of them together. 

Clarke pulled out her own phone, not sure how she'd missed the notification that Lexa had tagged her in a post. She sent Lexa a friend request, which was accepted a second later. 

"Not that I plan to start using it," Lexa said. "But..." She shrugged. 

"You might want it later," Clarke said. "It's probably where I'll end up posting pictures of..." She trailed off, realizing that she didn't know if that was true. Sure, it was the easiest way to get pictures to everyone, but it also meant that Finn would most likely see them, and if he saw them... 

"Hey," Lexa said, reaching across the table to take Clarke's hand. "Let's just think about today." 

Clarke squeezed her fingers harder than she meant to, easing her grip only when she realized her knuckles were white. "Today," she agreed. "I was thinking we could see the Museum of Glass, and the Bridge of Glass, and—"

"There's a bridge made of glass?" 

Clarke shook her head. "You'll see." She picked up her coffee and took a sip, pleased to find that it had reached a temperature that allowed her to drink it without risking burning the roof of her mouth. She ate one-handed, unwilling to let go of Lexa just yet, and Lexa didn't try to pull away, even when they were done, so they left the café and walked to Clarke's car hand-in-hand.

They wound their way through the streets of Seattle and to the highway that would take them to Tacoma. The radio was on, quiet enough that they could have talked if they wanted to, but it was still early and it seemed neither of them had much to say. There was nothing wrong with companionable silence anyway, and this _was_ companionable... at least Clarke thought it was. She snuck a look over at Lexa, who was leaned back in her seat, looking relaxed, and a small smile curved her lips, which brought a bigger one to Clarke's.

Yeah, they were okay. 

As they drove, the sky lightened, and as it crested the horizon, Clarke blinked and reached to flip down her visor, because wonder of wonders, there was a break in the clouds. "Did you do this?" she asked, looking at Lexa. Lexa turned, her forehead furrowed, her lips parted but no words were forthcoming. "Did you bring the sun with you?" 

Her eyes lit up and a soft chuckle rose from her chest. "Just for you," she said. 

And it was a good thing that Clarke was driving (and also a not so good thing because it was almost impossible to tear herself from the snare of Lexa's eyes, as bright as the sun that streamed down – brighter – and just as beautiful) because if she hadn't been, she might have done something they would both regret... or not, and maybe that would be worse. 

Clarke cleared her throat. "Maybe the mountain will be out today," she said. Lexa cocked her head. "Rainier," Clarke clarified. "Maybe the clouds will clear enough that you'll be able to see all of it." Because sometimes they obscured the top, and sometimes the cloud layer was actually below the peak, so it was hard to get an idea of its full scale and grandeur. 

"Technically, isn't it always out?" Lexa asked. "Even if you can't see it, it's still there."

"By that logic, the sun is also technically always out, but you wouldn't say that when it's raining, would you?"

Lexa laughed. "Touché." 

They got to the city earlier than Clarke expected, and spent a little time just walking around. Clarke wasn't as good a tour guide here as she would be in Seattle, but Lexa didn't seem to mind. "This is the Washington State History Museum," Clarke said. "It's pretty much exactly what it says on the tin. They have some cool exhibits, and the special exhibits that they rotate through are interesting. Once there was one about Sasquatch, which really brought the crazies out of the woodwork." 

"I bet," Lexa said. 

"There was a plaster cast of a Sasquatch ass-print," Clarke said. "You could see the outline of his balls and everything." Lexa narrowed her eyes, looking ready to call her bluff. Clarke raised a hand. "I swear," she said. "I couldn't make that shit up."

"You are a strange, strange people," Lexa said. 

"Come on," Clarke said. "The Museum of Glass is this way. Over the bridge."

"The bridge of glass?"

"Right in one." They stepped out on the bridge, and Lexa looked around, trying to figure out why it was called the bridge of glass when it appeared to be the constructed of metal and concrete like any other bridge... and then she looked up. 

"Oh," she said. " _Oh._ " She pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures as they walked, and Clarke took a few pictures of Lexa taking pictures, zooming in to try to catch the wonder in her eyes. When they got to the museum, Clarke quickly paid their admission, ignoring Lexa's scowl, and they began to wander through the rooms. 

"Who knew glass could be so beautiful?" Lexa asked. 

"Chihuly, mostly," Clarke said. When they'd finally seen all of it, she caught Lexa's hand. "Now let me show you my favorite part."

* * *

Lexa laced her fingers through Clarke's and let herself be led. She knew she shouldn't keep touching Clarke like this, allowing this easy affection, because it twisted her heart in ways that were exquisitely painful, but she didn't know how to stop short of pulling away, and in doing so risk reopening the rift they were working so hard to heal. 

_Friends touch each other,_ she reminded herself. _You've held Luna's hand..._ But had she? Once or twice, maybe... but not like this. She might take her elbow or link their arms, but there was something infinitely more intimate about being palm-to-palm; Shakespeare had been right. 

_And look how **that** turned out._

The room Clarke led Lexa into looked almost like an auditorium, although it was basically empty, and far warmer than any auditorium Lexa had been in. At the bottom, instead of a stage there were tables, and a giant kiln or oven, and several people in gloves and aprons. She followed Clarke down to one of the front rows and settled into the seat next to her. 

"The hot shop," Clarke said. "Watch." 

Lexa watched. She watched as one of the artists pulled a long metal rod out of the oven (it probably had a technical name, but she didn't know it) and began to work the molten glass at the end of it, blowing air into the pipe to make a bubble, shaping it into she wasn't sure what, and honestly didn't care, because the _what_ didn't matter so much as the _how_ , and the how was mesmerizing. 

"Have you ever done that?" she asked Clarke, unable to tear her eyes away. 

"Not on that scale," Clarke said. "And not blown glass. I've made beads, mostly, and a lot of them never made it off the rods. They shattered. I still have the supplies at my shop, though, if you wanted to try." 

"Maybe," Lexa said, although she knew any effort she made would ultimately disappoint her, because it wouldn't be anything like what she was watching take shape. She'd never felt particularly artistic or creative; she'd never been able to make something from nothing – or not nothing, but close enough to – like she was witnessing now. She was better at shaping ideas than raw materials, molding people rather than clay... or glass. 

And she couldn't stand the thought of making something beautiful only to have it shatter when she tried to set it free. 

She squeezed Clarke's hand, suddenly conscious of the fact that she'd never let go, and Clarke squeezed back. "We can go whenever you're ready," Clarke said. 

"Not yet," Lexa said. "Not until they're done." 

She felt Clarke's head tip onto her shoulder, maybe drowsy from the heat and lack of sleep, and thought maybe she should have taken the hint, but she had to see this through, had to watch the glass become whatever it was becoming. 

When it was freed from the rod it had been shaped on and set to cool, Lexa let out a slow breath. "Okay," she said. "We can go." 

Clarke blinked open her eyes, and Lexa didn't know if she'd actually been sleeping, but she looked soft and peaceful like she'd been having a good dream. "Can I show you one of my favorite places?" she asked.

"That's why I'm here," Lexa said. 

"Then let's go." 

The place Clarke took her was called Tinkertopia, and Lexa's mind reeled as she tried to take it all in. It was clear as soon as they stepped inside why it was one of Clarke's favorite places; it was a creator's paradise. It wasn't an art supply store in the traditional sense; it wasn't just canvases and brushes and charcoal and chalk. There was an endless array of things, from the mundane to the bizarre, from buttons to doll heads to gears to things Lexa didn't even know the name or use of. 

"Wow," she said. "This is..."

"Amazing?" Clarke suggested. "Overwhelming?"

"Yes," Lexa laughed. "To both."

"I know," Clarke said. "I come here all the time, and there's always new stuff. It's a great place to find stuff to entice patients who are skeptical about art therapy. Especially boys, who think the whole thing idea is 'girly' or 'gay'." Lexa grimaced, and Clarke made a face right back. "Trust me, they don't get away with saying that more than once. But they have things like 'Build Your Own Robot' kits, and I've found that if I can get them doing something with their hands, it helps them talk, and what boy doesn't want a robot?" 

"Do they actually work?" Lexa asked.

"No," Clarke said. "That's where the imagination comes in. Or in the case of one of my more scientifically-inclined patients, the help of one of the tech ed teachers at his school." 

They wandered through the space, and at some point Lexa got separated from Clarke, but she knew her friend wouldn't leave without her, so she didn't worry too much. Instead, she let herself look with her hands, not just her eyes, like she'd always been told not to growing up, picking things up and putting them down... or not, with a few things that she thought might make nice souvenirs to bring home to Luna and the twins (as long as they were closely supervised). She finally found Clarke again, whose arms were full of things that she hadn't been able to resist. She shrugged and flashed a wry smile. "Always happens," she said. 

Lexa tried to pay for Clarke's stuff, too, but Clarke shook her head. "They're business supplies," she said. "I can claim them on my taxes. You can get lunch." 

"And dinner," Lexa said, scowling. 

"And dinner," Clarke agreed, taking her bag from the counter. "I know just the place."

* * *

By the time they got back to Seattle it was late, and Clarke dropped Lexa off at her hotel with only a brief hug, because she was fading fast and all she wanted – or all she wanted that she could allow herself to have – was to put on pajamas and collapse into bed. Back at her place, she left all of the craft supplies in the back seat; she would take them in tomorrow, or the next time she went to work. She sent a quick text to Lexa to let her know she got home safe and was asleep before she received a reply.

The next day they paid for the sunshine the day before. Day dawned – if it could even be called that – cold and dreary, matching Clarke's mood. Today was Lexa's last day here, and Clarke wanted to pull the covers over her head, because if she didn't acknowledge it, it wasn't real, right?

A squirming in her gut that wasn't hunger reminded her that no, life definitely didn't work that way. So she shoved back the covers and got up, showered, dressed, and went to retrieve Lexa for the last time... unless she needed a ride to the airport in the morning. They hadn't talked about it; Clarke assumed Lexa had already made arrangements, but that didn't mean she couldn't change them. But could she really stand to go and see her off? Could she smile and wave like it wasn't a big deal when already her heart was breaking at the thought of saying goodbye?

She tipped her head back and blinked. No tears. She didn't get to be upset about Lexa leaving. Not after what she'd done. 

"What do you want to do today?" she asked when Lexa got in the car. "Is there anything you wanted to see that I didn't think of?"

Lexa shook her head, then caught her lower lip between her teeth. 

"What?" Clarke asked when she didn't say anything. 

"Your art," Lexa said. "If... if you don't mind showing me. I'd love to see some of your art."

Clarke didn't look at her – _couldn't_ look at her – so she just nodded, and after they'd gotten breakfast to go, she drove to her office studio. They spread out their food on one of the tables, and Clarke told her a little more about what she did, and after they'd cleaned up, Clarke found one of her sketchpads and handed it to Lexa to flip through while she sifted through the various canvases and larger works that had accumulated over the years. She began setting them up on easels, creating a mini gallery of things she wanted Lexa to see. They weren't necessarily her _best_ works, but they were her favorites, for one reason or another. They were the ones that felt the most like pieces of herself painted or drawn or otherwise shaped into being outside of her own head and heart and soul. 

Lexa was quiet as she looked them over, lingering longer on some than others. Once, she reached out, then pulled her hand back like she thought an alarm would sound, and Clarke couldn't help a soft laugh. "It's okay," she said. "You can touch them if you want. The ones that could get smudged have been sprayed with fixative." And she watched, her mouth gone dry, as Lexa's long fingers traced the lines on the page, tentative and trembling.

And then she got to the last one, a piece that Clarke had started months ago and never finished. Lexa's breath caught. "Is that...?"

Clarke nodded. "It was going to be a belated birthday gift," she said. "Only..." 

"Life happened," Lexa said.

"Yes." 

Lexa didn't move, just stood staring and staring at her own face like it was someone she thought she ought to know but couldn't place. Finally, she closed her eyes, licked her lips, let out a long, slow breath. "I have a painting to finish too," she said. 

"Okay," Clarke said, and they both got to work.

* * *

"Promise you won't look," Lexa said, stretching her back and picking up her painting by its corners. "Not until I'm gone."

"I promise," Clarke said. 

Lexa gave it a last long look before putting it on the rack to dry, and hoped that Clarke would like it, and that she would understand... Because she'd figured out what was missing from the painting she'd started, what made it feel like it wasn't finished: them. _They_ were missing. So she'd painted them in, two silhouettes holding hands as a wash of gold streamed down on them from between the clouds. 

A bit heavy-handed in the metaphor department, but Clarke was the artist, not Lexa. 

Outside, it was the exact opposite. They walked out into a wall of wet, and Clarke wrinkled her nose. "Do you want to maybe... come to my place?" she asked. "It's not exciting, but it's dry, and it's not far." 

It was a bad idea. Lexa knew it was a bad idea. The last thing she needed was to see where Clarke lived, where she slept, all of the little things she surrounded herself with, the tiny intimate details like the brand of toothpaste she used and what she kept in her cupboards and whether she hung the toilet paper so it went over or under. If she knew those things, the illusion that she could somehow keep Clarke at arm's length would collapse. She was sure of it. 

"Yes," she said. "I'd love to."

* * *

It was early for dinner, but they'd missed lunch, and Clarke's stomach reminded her loudly that it was more important than ever that she get three (or more) square meals a day. "We can order in," she said, "or I can cook. I'm not great, but I'm not terrible." She smiled wryly. "I guess I'll need to work on that, if—"

She stopped, realizing what she'd been about to say and not sure whether she ought to say it. Not sure how Lexa would take it and if it would change the way she looked at Clarke. 

"If what?" Lexa asked, not missing the lapse. 

"If I keep the baby," Clarke said. 

"Oh," Lexa said, and nothing more. 

Clarke found her stash of menus and let Lexa pick what sounded good, and placed the order, then settled onto the couch and watched as Lexa's eyes roved over the space, taking it all in. She'd seen bits and pieces as background in pictures Clarke had taken, or when they'd used FaceTime or Skype, but now she was getting the full effect. Clarke didn't say anything, just let her explore, putting her feet up because she'd been on them for longer than she was used to with the added weight. It was fine when she was moving; standing still had been more of a challenge. She straightened her shirt, trying and failing to conceal the bump, and finally giving up.

"Do you think that's why you haven't told anyone?" Lexa asked. "Because you haven't decided yet if you're going to keep it?"

"Maybe," Clarke said. "Maybe that's some of it." 

_But also I didn't want to tell anyone else before I told you, and I didn't know how to tell you. And I'm not sure they'll understand, and I don't want their advice, and I don't want their pity, and there's the possibility that it might cost me one of my best friends because of who the baby daddy is, and..._

"I guess I assumed you'd already decided," Lexa said softly. 

Clarke shook her head. "Some days I'm sure that I will," she said. "Other days, I think I would be crazy to. I like my life the way it is, and if I have a baby, everything will change. _I_ will change. Which isn't a good thing or a bad thing, but it's definitely a thing. I watched it happen with Octavia. And she has Lincoln. I don't have... I would be doing it on my own. And I don't know if I'm ready for that. Maybe no one ever really is, but..." Clarke sighed. "I don't know. I wish I did. But I don't."

"You still have time," Lexa said. "But people are going to figure it out, sooner or later. And they're going to ask, or they're going to assume."

"I know," Clarke said. "I know."

The food arrived, and they didn't talk about it anymore, but it was there, occupying the space between them like the baby occupied space in Clarke's belly, until Lexa reached out and the space between them closed even though it was only their hands touching. They talked about other things, inconsequential things that didn't make their hearts hurt, until darkness fell and the rain was still coming down and Clarke said, "Don't go."

* * *

_Don't go._

_Tonight?, Lexa wanted to ask. _Or ever?__

She didn't ask. She only said, "Okay."

And she said, "Okay," again when Clarke said the guest room bed wasn't made and maybe it would be easier if Lexa just... And again when Clarke offered her shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in because of course her things were all at her hotel, and this had never been part of the plan (but always been part of the dream) and again when Clarke said the right side of the bed was Lexa's because she had to sleep on her left side because of the baby.

And she said okay without words when Clarke wrapped Lexa around her like a blanket, tucking herself against Clarke's back and brushing her lips without thinking against the hollow behind Clarke's ear.

"Thank you," Clarke whispered. "For coming. Even though..."

"Of course," Lexa said. "Always."

And she meant it. Of course she meant it. She had never not meant a single word she'd ever said to Clarke. Including – especially – what she said now: "I love you."

Not for the first time – they'd both said it before, in laughter and in tears the other would have dried if they could and in exasperation and elation – but she'd never meant it more than she did now, even though it was more complicated than it had ever been.

"I love you too," Clarke said. "Of course. Always."

* * *

In the morning, Lexa woke before the sun, and eased herself out of bed and back into her own clothes. She tucked the blankets against Clarke's back and left a note in the dent in the pillow where her head had been. She stood in the doorway and watched Clarke for as long as she dared... and then she walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, if you are ever in Seattle, it is worth the trip to Tacoma to see the [Bridge of Glass](https://zahner.imgix.net/d78f8e31-9e6f-4773-ab82-42161ec764aa/tacoma-drop-and-lock-andersson-weise.jpg?fit=min&q=50&w=1440) and the [Museum of Glass](https://www.museumofglass.org). When I was there they were making blown glass hamburgers for some kind of food competition trophy. I could have sat there for hours. (My friend and I did stay long enough to watch the completion of the first burger.)
> 
> Also, the Sasquatch exhibit I described at the [Washington State History Museum](http://www.washingtonhistory.org/) was very real, as was the plaster cast of Sasquatch's balls. I know this because one of my friends curated it, back in 2010. Trust me, _I_ couldn't make that shit up either.


	8. Chapter 8

Clarke wasn't sure if it was her stomach growling, the baby doing backflips, or the pressure in her bladder that woke her up, but she sat up and stretched, feeling more rested and awake and _herself_ than she had in a long time. She pushed back the covers and padded to the bathroom to take care of the most urgent need. As she washed her hands, she ran down the list of places she'd wanted to take Lexa, trying to see if there was anything she'd missed, and whether they had enough time before Lexa's flight to do it, or if they just wanted one last breakfast together, or...

Her heart constricted when she remembered that Lexa hadn't gone back to her hotel the night before. She'd spent the night, not in the guest room but in Clarke's room, in Clarke's bed. Clarke had fallen asleep in her arms... and woken up alone. 

She pushed back through the bathroom door, her mouth open to call for Lexa, when she noticed the note on the pillow where Lexa's head had been... Clarke glanced at the clock and realized she'd slept in far later than normal. Lexa might have been gone for hours. How had Clarke not noticed? How had Lexa gotten out of bed, dressed, and left without waking Clarke? And _why_?

Clarke dashed the tears from her eyes and went around to Lexa's side – no, not Lexa's side, Lexa wasn't here so she didn't have a side, and Clarke tried to cling to the tiny flare of anger that sparked, but it was gone before she could feed the flame – and picked up the folded paper, her name neatly printed on the outside.

_Dear Clarke,_  
_I'm sorry to do this, but I had an early flight and I know you need your sleep... and if I'd woken you up, I don't know if I could have made myself leave. I don't know how to say goodbye to you. I don't want to. So this isn't goodbye. This is I'll talk to you soon, and... we'll talk. Okay?_  
_All my love,_  
_Lexa_

"No," Clarke said. " _Not_ okay. You should have woken me. You should have—" But Lexa wasn't there to hear her, and who was she to tell anyone how they should have handled not knowing how to say something to someone? 

Her eyes filled with tears again, and she set the note down gently, not wanting to risk it getting wet and the words smudging. Scraps of the note had already imprinted themselves on her mind, and they swirled in her head now, repeating in an infinite loop: _I'm sorry_ and I don't want to and _This isn't goodbye_ and _We'll talk_ and _All my love_...

_All my love, Lexa._

_... my love, Lexa..._

_I love Lexa._

_I **love** Lexa._

The realization hit like a sledgehammer, forcing Clarke almost to her knees. She caught herself on the edge of the bed and leaned against it as she slid to the floor, curling around her belly and her heart because it felt like she needed to protect both... but from what? 

_From yourself,_ rose the thought, unbidden and unwanted but nevertheless true. 

Because now she knew. Even though she'd told Lexa the night before that she still hadn't decided, deep down she knew. Maybe she'd always known. She wanted the baby. _Her_ baby. Even though it would be hard, even though her entire life would change, even though it would change her, in ways she probably couldn't even imagine... she wanted it. 

And she wanted Lexa. If she'd had any lingering doubts, last night had banished them once and for all. Sitting together, eating takeout and talking about nothing and everything with the sound of the rain in the background like white noise that sealed them in their own safe little bubble. Falling asleep in her arms with the brush of her breath against the back of her neck, soft and even... she wanted that. Every night. For the rest of her life.

She didn't want to choose. 

She couldn't choose.

She wanted both.

She wanted it all.

And for a moment she'd had it. Now it was gone. _She_ was gone. And Clarke didn't know if she was ever coming back.

* * *

The woman next to Lexa offered her a tissue and an understanding smile, but thankfully didn't try to talk to her. Lexa had almost missed the flight, having underestimated how much time it would take for her to get back to her hotel, pack up, and get to the airport. She'd considered, just for a second, going to the ticket counter and changing to a later flight, or one tomorrow, but in the end she'd forced herself to get into the security line, after which there was no turning back. 

Although technically shorter than her flight to Seattle, the flight home seemed interminable. Her stomach was in knots and her heart ached, and every minute put more miles – she didn't want to think how many – between her and Clarke. 

_It's a good thing,_ she told herself. _You were never going to be able to think clearly with her there._

_Think clearly about **what**?,_ another part of her demanded. _What is there to think about?_

Because there had been perfect clarity in that split-second after she'd woken up, before she'd remembered she had to leave. She'd known, for the span of a single breath, that she was exactly where she was meant to be. 

And then reality had dug its claws in once more, and she knew just as clearly that it was impossible.

Or, if not that, at least improbable. 

There were too many things they hadn't said when they should have said them, and now it was too late. It was over - _they_ were over – before they'd even begun. 

Wasn't it? Weren't they? 

Was it up to her? 

Did she even get a say? 

She blotted her eyes and rested her head against the window... and woke as they prepared for their final descent. 

The woman beside her patted her hand as the seats in front of them began to empty, having finally reached the gate. "Everything will work out exactly as it should," she told Lexa. "It always does."

Lexa nodded and gathered her things, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone, switching it out of airplane mode as she pushed her carry-on down the aisle. She mumbled thanks to the flight crew and made her way through the tunnel to the gate, watching notifications pop up on her screen, hoping...

And then, finally:

 **Clarke:** Safe travels! ✈  
**Clarke:** Let me know when you land?

Relief flooded through Lexa, and she blinked away the stinging in her eyes. There'd been part of her that wondered if Clarke would ghost her again. If it would be out of sight, out of mind, and everything they'd built, or rebuilt, over the past week would disappear as if it had never happened, leaving her to wonder if maybe she'd just dreamed it all.

Lexa typed out a text.

 **Lexa:** Home safe.

But she deleted it, because the place she'd called home for most of her life didn't feel like it anymore. She tried again.

 **Lexa:** Back safe.

And deleted again, because 'back' would be with Clarke. 'Back' would be in the place she'd just come from. As in, 'I'll be back.' As in, 'I'll come back to you.' As in...

 **Lexa:** Safely on the ground again.

She hit Send.

 **Lexa:** Miss you already.

That one she didn't send, but she couldn't bring herself to delete it, either.

* * *

Clarke was sitting in her studio, Lexa's painting propped on an easel, when her phone buzzed on the table.

 **Lexa:** Safely on the ground again.

Clarke snatched up her phone and started to type.

 **Clarke:** It's beautiful. Glad to hear it.

She didn't realize she hadn't erased the message she'd typed as soon as she saw the painting until she'd already hit Send, and she grimaced, realizing the message wasn't going to make any sense. 

**Lexa:** What's beautiful?

 **Clarke:** Sorry. Your painting. 

_When I woke up and you weren't there, I remembered you'd made me promise not to look at your painting until after you'd left, and I thought maybe there was another message there, so I ran – not literally, you're the runner, not me, especially not now, and should I get a jogging stroller, or—_

Clarke stopped the train of thought before it could barrel too far down the tracks, because she was already getting ahead of herself. _Way_ ahead of herself. 

But there _had_ been a message in the painting... unless Clarke's imagination was getting ahead of her there, too. But how else was she supposed to interpret two silhouettes holding hands, standing in the single beam of sunlight breaking through the gray of the Seattle sky? Lexa had painted it – painted them – that way because she wanted Clarke to know there as hope. Right? 

**Lexa:** I'm glad you like it. 

**Clarke:** Can I keep it?

She was asking about the painting, but maybe also a little bit about the feeling that accompanied it. Could she hold on to it, or should she let it go? 

**Lexa:** Of course. I wouldn't have left it if I hadn't meant for you to keep it.

Clarke pressed her phone against her heart, her other hand straying to the faint fluttering in her belly, and she squeezed her eyes tight against the wash of tears that filled them. Lexa's words felt like permission to believe that maybe last night wasn't a one-time thing, that maybe having it all wasn't as impossible as it had seemed only a few days ago. 

**Clarke:** I miss you.

 **Clarke:** I miss you so much it hurts.

 **Clarke:** Why didn't you wake me?

 **Clarke:** Why did you leave without saying goodbye?

 **Clarke:** Why did you leave?

She erased each message as soon as she typed it, staring at the blinking cursor on the blank screen until her throat felt a little less choked, and the band around her heart stopped squeezing quite so hard. 

**Clarke:** Can I call you?

Her fingers shook as she tapped to send the message, clenching white-knuckled around her phone until it buzzed with a response.

 **Lexa:** Not quite back to my apt yet. I'll call you when I get there.

 **Clarke:** Okay. 

She tried to distract herself, scrubbing little drips of paint off of counters and doing an inventory of her supplies, but it was hard to get anything done when she was checking her phone every few seconds, afraid that she would somehow miss Lexa's call, even though she'd switched it off of silent and turned the volume all the way up.

When it finally rang, Clarke almost jumped out of her skin. She quickly slid her finger across the screen to answer it. "Lexa."

"Clarke," Lexa responded, and maybe Clarke was imagining the tangle of emotions in her voice: amusement and sadness and longing and love. Maybe she was just hearing what she wanted to hear, projecting her own messy heart onto her best friend – she could call her that again, couldn't she? – so she didn't have to be alone with a heart that ached from being too empty and too full all at once.

"I—" Clarke started, but her voice broke and she choked back a sob. 

"I miss you," Lexa said softly. 

Clarke sniffed, nodded, realized Lexa couldn't see her and sniffed again. "Yeah." She sucked in a breath, and it came out a shuddering sigh. "Thank you. For coming. For staying. For being braver than I am. For—"

"I don't know if I'm braver, or just more stubborn," Lexa said, an almost laugh in her voice. 

"No one is more stubborn than me," Clarke said, almost laughing too. "No one." 

"I can believe that," Lexa said. "But I might give you a run for your money." 

"Maybe," Clarke conceded, slumping back onto her stool, her eyes going back to Lexa's painting. "I love it," she said. "The painting. I really do."

"It's no masterpiece," Lexa said, "but I'm happy with how it turned out."

Clarke swallowed. "It doesn't need to be a masterpiece," she said. "It just needs to say what you want it to say." 

"It does," Lexa said. 

They were both quiet then. Clarke could hear Lexa breathing, soft and slow, in and out, and wondered if she was choking on all the things she wanted to say but couldn't, or didn't know how to, or wasn't sure she should, or if she was comfortable in the silence. 

"I'm glad I got to meet you," Clarke finally said, trying and failing to keep the rasp from her voice. "I'm glad I got to show you my home. Maybe someday—" But she didn't finish, because she didn't want to make promises she couldn't keep, and the future was so uncertain right now, because even though she knew what she wanted she didn't know if it was right or fair, if she was being selfish, if...

"Maybe someday," Lexa agreed, like she knew what Clarke had been about to say and knew why she hadn't said it, and Clarke wished she couldn't hear the hopelessness that tinged the words. "Maybe someday I'll come back," Lexa added, but she didn't sound all that enthusiastic, or maybe that was Clarke making assumptions and hearing what she _didn't_ want to hear this time.

"Any day," Clarke said. "Any day you want to show up on my doorstep, you're welcome." 

"I'll keep that in mind," Lexa said. A pause, and then, "I should go. I need to unpack, do laundry..."

"Okay," Clarke said. "I'll talk to you later?"

"I'll be there," Lexa said. 

And Clarke heard loud and clear the words she didn't say: _Will you?_

* * *

Lexa looked around her apartment and realized she hated it. She hated the bland off-white of the walls and the brown of the carpets, the dingy no matter how any times she scrubbed it tiles and the fake wood cabinets and...

She could afford a better place. She'd thought about moving plenty of times; she just never got past the thinking stage, because there was nothing _wrong_ with this place. It was close to work, the grocery store, the library, a couple of decent restaurants. Her neighbors weren't too loud or too quiet; they all pretty much left each other alone, and in doing so got along fine. So there was no reason to uproot herself for the sake of nicer countertops and hardwood floors, or whatever it was a realtor would try to sell her as an upgrade. 

Which was the other thing. She never got serious about moving because she knew the next logical step would be to invest in a place of her own, rather than continuing to pay rent to someone else. At least that had been Costia's argument, back when they'd been planning their future. Back when they'd _had_ a future, before... But every time Costia had brought it up, Lexa had been crippled by the thought of being tied to a place for years if not decades, shackled by a mortgage and responsible for anything and everything that might go wrong. 

Now she didn't even know if she wanted to stay here. She had friends, sure, but no one she would miss all that much if they moved away... or if she did. Anya was hardly around, and Luna was already a short flight or a long drive away. And this city was steeped in memories of the life she'd wanted to build with Costia, and it had gotten better over the years, but still sometimes it was like walking through a field of emotional landmines, cringing with every step. 

"I don't want to be here," Lexa said to her suitcase, yanking the zipper and dumping its contents straight into a laundry basket. 

"I don't want to be here," she said again, the phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear as she folded t-shirts into neat squares. 

"So come here," Luna said. "You know you're always welcome." 

"Maybe I will," Lexa said. 

"I'd love to see you, and so would the twins," Luna said. "Maybe it will help you get some clarity." 

Maybe it would, or maybe it wouldn't. There was no way to know. But Lexa did know that she wasn't okay, not really, and she didn't want to be alone.

So she said, "Okay."

* * *

Lexa got in her car early the next morning, before most people were awake, especially on a Sunday. She had her laptop with her so she could work the next day, since they were expecting her back from vacation and she didn't think she could get away with taking a few extra days after she'd already had a week, though it was tempting to try. 

The farther she got from home, the better she felt. She turned up the music and sang along, drumming out the rhythm on her steering wheel when she didn't know the words, and when she was far enough from the city to be breathing anything other than exhaust, she cracked open the window to let the fresh air in. She stopped when she needed to pee or stretch her legs, looking for ridiculous landmarks that only locals would find noteworthy and snapping pictures to send to Clarke, hoping they would make her smile when she woke up and saw them. 

Finally, she started to smell salt on the breeze and knew she was getting close. She opened her window a little wider, sucking brine deep into her lungs and exhaling tension, even as her energy surged at the thought of finally being out of the car for good. 

She pulled up in front of Luna's house, a moderately sized cottage in a cluster of similar dwellings that made up a cooperative community, the rules of which Lexa still wasn't entirely clear on. It was the sort of place where they took the adage, 'It takes a village to raise a child' seriously, and there was a communal kitchen and living area in one building where they could gather to share meals and conversation, and where they met to discuss different things that needed to be done and who was going to do them. Like one person might offer to cook meals or watch kids while another mowed lawns and another helped with home repairs. 

It wasn't the type of place Lexa could ever see herself living, but it worked for Luna, and that was what mattered. Before she could wrestle her suitcase out of the back seat, the door opened, and a tiny human rocketed toward her, nearly taking her out at the knees.

"Auntie Lexa!" 

Lexa scooped him up and propped him on her hip, peppering his face with kisses. "Aden!" 

He giggled and ducked his head, twining his arms around her neck. "You here!" 

"I am!" she said, squeezing him tight. "Where's Mama and Adie?" 

Aden turned to look, and pointed back toward the door, where Luna stood with Aden's sister Adria in her arms. The younger-by-a-few-minutes twin had her head on Luna's shoulder and her thumb in her mouth, and her head was a mess of tangled curls nearly as wild as Luna's. Luna smiled and waved, and after a little nudge and a kiss to her cheek, Adria waved too.

"Come on in," Luna said. "We just woke up from naps and were thinking about lunch." 

"All of you?" Lexa teased. 

Luna stuck out her tongue and laughed. "You try chasing after two toddlers every day and see if you don't need a nap once in a while," she said. 

_You were the one who decided to do it on your own,_ Lexa thought, and immediately hated herself for it. Who was she to judge? And Luna _wasn't_ doing it on her own. Not completely. She had her little village to help her, and the twins' father wasn't completely out of the picture, even though he didn't live with them. Lexa honestly wasn't sure what the nature of Luna's relationship with Derrick was these days; she didn't ask and Luna didn't tell. Maybe there wasn't anything _to_ tell. His job kept him offshore for days at a time, but when he was on land, he made sure to spend time with the twins and help Luna in any way he could. 

"Should we go in and get some lunch?" Lexa asked Aden. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded vigorously, so Lexa grabbed her suitcase and they went inside. She parked the case out of the way, not sure where she would be sleeping because the guest room was now the twins' room. Lexa wondered what Luna would do when they got too old to share a room anymore, but there was still a few years before Luna needed to worry about that, so she didn't ask.

She plunked Aden down in his booster seat and went to wrap her arms around Luna and Adria, who was clinging to her mother like a barnacle. "Hey, Adria," she said, smoothing back a wayward curl. "Do you remember me?"

Adria nodded slowly, her thumb slipping from her mouth. "Auntie Lexa," she said. 

"That's right," Lexa said, smiling at her. "Will you let me know when you're ready for a hug?" Adria stuck her thumb back in her mouth, clinging a little harder to Luna. "Only when you're ready," Lexa said. 

"It okay, Adie!" Aden said. Adie – pronounced like A.D. – was what they both called each other. It was a fitting nickname, considering it was also both of their initials: Aden Derrick and Adria Dawn. "Auntie Lexa nice!" 

Adria scrunched up her face, considering, then unstoppered her mouth and held out both arms, allowing Lexa to take her from Luna and hug her. 

"Aww," Lexa said, "thank you! Adie hugs are the best hugs!"

"Hey!" Aden said, pouting at her and thrusting his arms up. 

" _Both_ Adie-babies," Lexa said, picking him back up and balancing him on her other hip, noting the flicker of amusement in Luna's face as she had to adjust her stance to accommodate the weight of two toddlers...

... and then had to adjust again when Adria threw her weight backward, scowling with all she was worth. "I not baby, I big!" she insisted. 

"Yeah!" Aden agreed. "I big!"

"You are," Lexa said, getting a better grip on both of them. "You're _so_ big. I can't believe how much you've grown since last time I saw you!" They'd still been toddling around like drunken sailors the last time she'd visited, and barely stringing words together more than two or three at a time. She talked to them on Skype and FaceTime regularly, but she didn't make it down to see them in person nearly as much as she should. 

She continued to hold them both, listening to them chatter and bicker, while Luna made lunch. She was grateful when Luna insisted it was time for them to get into their own seats to eat, though, because her arms were getting tired and her lower back was starting to ache. As soon as they were distracted by their peanut butter (the organic kind that was both healthy and completely devoid of flavor, in Lexa's opinion) and jelly and carrot sticks, Lexa moved in for a proper hug from Luna.

"How do you do it?" she asked softly. 

"They are their own weight-training regime," Luna said, squeezing her so tight Lexa felt her ribs creak. "It's so good to see you." 

"It's good to see you too," Lexa said, her eyes pricking as she breathed in the salt-sun-sand scent of Luna. "I'm sorry I don't visit." 

"Don't be sorry," Luna said. "Just be better." 

Lexa sniffed and nodded, a pang of guilt lancing through her, because she knew herself, and knew that despite her best intentions, that wasn't likely. Especially now. But that was a conversation for later... if it was a conversation at all. Because maybe it wasn't. Maybe it shouldn't be. But she had to say something to _someone_ , had to purge herself of the thought – idea, wish, dream – that had been gnawing at her since before she even left Seattle. And she couldn't talk to Clarke before she'd even sorted out her own head – and heart – and Anya had already made her position clear. Which left Luna. 

But having a serious conversation wasn't possible when one had a pint-sized shadow, and wherever Lexa was, so was Aden, although she had to draw the line at the bathroom door, gently prying his fingers from the door frame so she didn't close it on them. "I'll be right out," she said, and was startled and yet unsurprised when he was waiting exactly where she'd left him when she opened it again. 

"The more things change..." Luna teased. The first time Lexa had made it down to visit after the babies were born, they were already old enough to be mobile, and it had amused Luna to no end that Aden had immediately taken to crawling after Lexa wherever she went. He had always been the bolder of the twins, the more adventurous and independent, so while Adria had clung to Luna, he had latched on to Lexa and refused to let go. 

Time and distance had changed nothing. 

They took the twins to the beach. It wasn't warm enough to swim, but they splashed along the water's edge, making sad castles that were mostly just piles of mud, squealing when they unearthed crabs that scuttled away, gathering rocks and shells and bringing their treasures back to their mother and godmother (or whatever you called someone who served that function when neither of the adults involved were sure they believed in a higher power). Then it was back to the house to hose them off and nap and play some more and eat dinner and then have a proper bath to make sure ever last grain of salt and sand was washed away.

Lexa's phone rang when she was elbow-deep in suds, and she quickly grabbed a towel and wiped them off to answer it. "Hey," she said. "I can't really talk right now."

"That's okay," Clarke said, but she sounded disappointed. Or maybe that was Lexa hearing what she wanted to. "I just wanted to make sure you got there safe."

"Shit," Lexa said, then grimaced and mouthed, 'I'm sorry' at Luna. Thankfully the twins were too busy splashing to have noticed the slip. "I forgot to text you."

"I'm sure you've had more important things to think about," Clarke said. 

_There's nothing more important than you,_ Lexa thought, but pressed her lips together to keep the words from escaping. 

"Toddlers can be very distracting," she said instead. 

"Mmm," Clarke agreed. "I'll let you go. Have a good visit." 

"You t—" Lexa caught herself, laughed. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," she said. "Promise." 

"Only if you have time," Clarke said. 

"I promise," Lexa repeated. 

"Auntie Lexa!" Aden said. "Look!" 

"I gotta go," Lexa said. "Love you."

"Love you too," Clarke said, and hung up before Lexa could.

Lexa wondered then if Clarke had called for a reason other than checking to make sure she'd gotten to Luna's, if there was something she needed, if something was wrong, and for a second she considered calling her back, or at least texting, but then Aden called her name again, and she gave him and the bubble-beard he'd stuck to his face her full attention. 

When the twins' fingers and toes started to resemble raisins, they pulled them out of the bath and got them into pajamas, and after more stories than Luna usually allowed, they were tucked into their little toddler beds and kissed goodnight. 

Lexa collapsed onto the couch next to Luna. "How do you do this every day?" she asked. 

Luna laughed. "You think today was bad?" she asked. "Usually they have me outnumbered!" She reached out and pulled Lexa closer, so they were shoulder to shoulder, and Luna tangled their fingers together. "You didn't come here to talk about me," she said. 

Lexa sighed. "Am I really that transparent?" 

"Only to me," Luna said. "So spill."

Lexa squeezed her hand, waiting for the lump in her throat to shrink enough that she could get words past. Then it all came out. What had happened on her birthday, Clarke ghosting her after she'd reassured her that everything was okay between them, the trip to Seattle and finding out Clarke was pregnant and going to her appointment with her, the conversations they'd had and the last night they spent together... Some of it Luna already knew, but Lexa didn't want to leave anything out, and maybe if she said it all together it would help her make sense of it.

Luna nodded as she listened, her thumb gliding over Lexa's in a gesture of reassurance that made Lexa want to cry, because when was the last time anyone had comforted her, instead of the other way around? "What do you want, Lexa?" she asked. "If you could close your eyes and make a wish, and when you opened them you would have exactly what you wanted, what would it look like?"

"I don't know," Lexa said. "I thought I did, but now..."

"But now..." Luna prompted.

"Everything has changed," Lexa said finally, "and nothing has."

* * *

Lexa called the next day, just like she'd promised, and the day after that, and the day after that. They fell back into their usual rhythm of online chats and frequent texts, sending each other articles and memes and pictures that made them think of the other, mostly silly but a few serious. They talked more than they had before, because at least for Clarke going a day without hearing Lexa's voice left an ache in her chest that nothing else could remedy. When they were talking, it was easier to imagine Lexa wasn't so far away, that they weren't on opposite coasts, that the ocean she heard in the background sometimes was the Pacific instead of the Atlantic and if she asked, Lexa could be there in minutes, not hours... if she came at all.

Clarke thought about asking. Every day, she thought about asking Lexa to come back. But Lexa was visiting her friend Luna, helping with her godson and goddaughter, and she seemed happy there. And wasn't that what Clarke wanted? For Lexa to be happy?

 _With me,_ the selfish part of her appended to the thought each time. _I want her to be happy **with me.**_ And it didn't mean 'happy with' as opposed to angry. 

But that wasn't going to happen, and every day the reason why grew, and Clarke struggled more and more to hide it. She finally had to give in and buy maternity pants, because nothing she owned zipped or buttoned anymore, and she was grateful for the cooler fall weather, because it allowed her to wear layers that helped conceal the now-pronounced bump. The baby's increased activity made it hard to keep her hands away, and she found herself avoiding social situations even more because she still didn't know how – or what – she was going to tell her friends. Because the truth might set her free... but it almost might leave her as alone as she felt. 

Her phone rang early one morning, as she was preparing for her first session of the day, and her heart clenched, because no one would call at this hour unless it was important. It wasn't Lexa's ringtone, but that didn't mean anything. It could be Luna, calling to tell her... what? 

She grabbed her phone and saw Octavia's name on the screen, and while she was relieved that it wasn't about Lexa, it didn't calm the butterflies in her stomach any because O knew she was almost always working at this time of day, and she never called anyway; she only ever sent texts. 

"Hello?" Clarke asked. 

"Have you talked to Raven?" Octavia asked. 

"Not today," Clarke said. "I was texting her yesterday. Why?"

"You need to talk to her. Or—" Clarke heard a wail in the background. Nyko didn't sound happy. "Shit. I've gotta go. Call Raven." She hung up. 

Clarke brought up her contacts, her fingers shaking as she tapped on Raven's name. 

Raven picked up halfway through the first ring and greeted Clarke with two words. Two words that upended her world for the second time that year: "Finn's dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone considering saying anything about me taking the easy way out by having Finn die, let me remind you of two things:  
> 1\. Canonically, he dies. So it's not without precedent.  
> 2\. It's my story. I get to tell it however I want. 
> 
> And yes, Aden as Not A Clexa Baby. Shocking, I know! But Aden and Adria make cute twin names!
> 
> Also, now would probably be a good time to mention that I'll be taking a break from posting in November, so the next chapter won't be until December. You're welcome. 😘


End file.
